Make Light
by stratusfish
Summary: Harry Potter and Ginny are faltering. This isn't surprising in the slightest. Charlie Weasley happened to be at the right place at the right time, and Jacob Black ends up meeting his imprint at the local laundromat.
1. Moth's Wings

_WHAT IS THIS? Harry Potter and Jacob Black deserve some lovin.

* * *

_

**Make Light**

**!**

_Chapter one: Moth's Wings_

Sometimes Ginny could be a right pain in the ass.

Luckily, this trait was not one of genetic inheritance, and therefore, the rest of her family was marginally, or not affected at all.

Harry paused in shoveling in his laundry.

On second thought, Percy was a little ass kissing tosser, so maybe it was one of those two in seven kind of odds.

Currently, he was contemplating such a mind aching subject such as genetic properties and the science of DNA, in a small, dingy and poorly cleaned Laundromat in Forks, Washington, because of one Ginny Weasley. But actually, his deep thoughts were only hiding under the guise of the young redhead. In fact, they were more focused on the life of one Harry James Potter, and where it had went so wrong.

He had just sort of assumed that he'd die by seventeen, that living past it was completely throwing him for the loop.

The cell phone in his pocket began to wiggle, and a retro David Bowie-esque ringtone would have been heard, had the machines not have been louder then five rockets simultaneously taking off from behind his head.

The young wizard paused in heaving the rest of his dirty laundry into the questionably sanitary washing machine, to dig it out of his pocket.

Call From: Ginny

He sent it to voicemail.

Ginny and he had a fight. Not exactly a rare occurrence, as these days they fought over anything, but mostly things like the placing of chairs at the table, cable channels for a TV they didn't use, cleaning charms verse hand washing, and Harry's personal favorite, soap brands. Because magical folk who could spell dirt off with the flick of a wand needed to scrutinize each fine print on the side of the soap box. They had only been _serious dating—_as Ginny liked to say to Lavender and Parvati when she slipped out of the house to gossip—for a couple months now, and Harry was already ready to pull the plug.

It wasn't that his feelings had just sort of been doused in water or anything like that, they still had their moments of perfection. But it seemed like the little peeves, the carton of orange juice on the fridge door instead of on the shelves, the crooked carpet, dirty silverware grew in their shadows like untamed Boggarts and finally just devoured them.

Harry contemplated this, as he heaved a sigh and flopped into one of the plastic chairs in front of the washing machines, wondering if his answers were all inside this deafening washer. As he watched his clothes idly, a woman who could have been Pootie Tang's mother was screeching accusingly to a boy on the floor, who seemed to have peed himself.

This, combined with the fact he was in _Forks_, yes, _Washington_, the middle of god damn fucking nowhere, only seemed to obliterate his mood entirely.

Harry Potter didn't think his day could get any worse.

And then the laundry machine exploded.

.

.

.

But let's backtrack.

September, and its beginning to get kind of cold.

Ginny is inside wallowing, or shouting, or whatever she was doing now that he couldn't care less, and he can smell the steam of the hot Pumpkin Juice from the café they live above. Diagon Alley is in front of him, pale stone buildings and the bright colors of scarves decorating the crowds of shoppers. Harry Potter can feel the cold from the hole in his converse, right between his toes, and thinks that the Gryffindor scarf he's wearing isn't enough for the weather.

He drags his luggage behind him, before flicking his wand out and minimizing it until his bags fit in his pocket.

He strolls out into Muggle London, blending with the teenagers with their hip v-neck sweaters and ragged jeans, considering the fact he's wearing both of those, and makes his way to the train station.

In this time of year, platform 9 ¾ is deserted, the tracks devoid of the Hogwarts Express, the platform silent in comparison to the loud voices of first years and billowing steam from the engine.

But Charlie Weasley is there, flagging him over with a large, lopsided grin on his face.

"Heard you wanted a change of scenery!" He smiles as Harry comes closer.

"Sort of." The younger boy says sheepishly. "But I'd rather you call it a necessary vacation."

Charlie makes a noise of agreement, before puling out a disturbingly ugly sock and checks his watch, the likes of which Harry assumes to be the portkey.

"Ah, five minutes still." He looks up then. "Yeah? Come to learn something about the dragons?"

"I suppose. I think I've learnt enough about the Hungarian Horntails, though." Harry jokes, but finds a weird feeling in his stomach when he thinks of the Tri Wizarding Tournament, of Voldemort, and of his life when he was fourteen.

"Yes, we do have one of those I believe." Charlie hums. "But really, you should see the Peruvian Vipertooth. She's a beaut, Harry. We have a few Longhorns and Ridgebacks. The new Ukranian Ironbelly was moved a couple weeks ago."

Harry listens, but mostly he closes his eyes and tries to hear the whistling smoke of the Hogwart's Express, imagines the clots of steam that hide the platform from view, the crest of Hogwarts fluttering on the chain right below the elegant script that denotes the platform number.

"The reserve is actually quite small right now, but a lot of money's flowing in from donations, and we think it's going to end up being one of the biggest in the world! Nothing like the Peruvian Fields, I'm sure. But maybe as big as the one in Romania. With that kind of space, we could invest in Russian Pearlsnouts and a couple Himalayan Icewing—

The portkey erupts.

And the Dragon Reserve just twenty miles away from the border of Forks, Washington, comes into view.

.

.

How Harry ended up away from the reserve and into Forks actually had nothing to do with Charlie, or dragons at all. Or maybe it did, seeing as though Charlie was the one who gave him a lift in his pick up truck .

Charlie seemed like the kind to have one beaten up, monster of a thing like this one. The old clunker was a rusted red, with back hull that could enlarge with magic. He had on some intensely warded cloaks on, woven chainmail, flame resistant gloves as thick as Harry's wrist, and a couple of the twins' Peruvian Darkness Powder. Him and ten other guys from the reserve were hiking up in the mountains around these parts in hopes of following up a sighting of an Alaskan Welsh.

Charlie was excited to see a North American breed of dragons.

Harry just wanted to see Neville.

Not only was the wintry area of upper west American the perfect climate for most mountainous dragons, but also for plants.

Neville and a couple of his colleagues had set up a couple greenhouses in the area, collecting specimens and growing them around the region. Harry supposed that they may be exploring for new magical herbs, but he mostly suspected that they were here because it was one of the last natural growing habitats of Fluxbomb grass, a crucial ingredient for any bone/organ/cell regrowth. Judging from the amount of people that had been wounded in the many battles from the previous years, Harry assumed it was probably in high demand.

In his head, the young Potter tries to reason with himself as to why he's here, in the dreary mostly humid but slightly rainy temperatures of the Seattle Time Zone, and has come to a couple conclusions, including but not limited to;

a) his recent arguments of increasing quantity and intensity with Ginny, the fact that Dean Thomas had moved to the flat across the street, and thus furthering the tension between them,

b) the fact that he found dragons rather interesting, and had always been inclined to spend a couple weeks at the reserve (of which he had assumed to be the Romanian one) with Charlie,

c) good timing,

d) Neville's recent move to the same region,

e) Harry's unsubtle annoyance with the press and new minister, but mostly because of,

f) the fact he didn't know what to do with his life.

Maybe the sparsely inhabited region of the world known as the northern west coast would have some answers for him.

Charlie pulls up into the gravel path that lead to the green houses. For a moment, it looks like a worn path that didn't lead anywhere, and cut off in the middle of an expanse of fields. Then, the wall glimmers, and the illusion is shattered for them, and Harry sees four or five large buildings sprawled across he grass, illustrious plants growing in number.

Charlie waves as he pulls out and carries on into the heart of the mountain.

Harry takes in the large domes of glass, sees Neville yelping as a plant with a mouth the size of a rhino's attempts to eat him, and decides that he doesn't think there's much he could learn here.

.

.

Jacob couldn't help but laugh.

The kid looked so confused as the machine started to whorl and shake uncontrollably, he supposed he should do something.

Part of him wanted to come over, and inform the guy that the thing was about to explode. The larger part of him decided not to, as it would draw attention to himself while he wasn't wearing anything but a pair of pinstripe pink boxers, and he wasn't sure if there were laws against public indecency in Forks.

He didn't regret it.

The dark-haired kid got destroyed by suds and what could have been a small tsunami erupted from the flung open washing machine door. His clothes got spit out all over him, and from Jake's angle he looked quite akin to a drowned rat.

The shifter, who had been waiting for his own laundry (he and Embry had the bright idea to play football in the mud and hadn't the time or energy to race back home for a spare change. Lucky Embry was called to patrol, and left without having to bother with clothes at all. Jake thought it was just sour luck on his part.

He didn't think it would be fate.

After much debate, the wolf decided that maybe he should help the poor guy out and offer a hand.

"Hey, you need a hand there?"

"Mmpphmm." Came the muffled reply.

The dark haired-teen looked pretty normal, at least as normal as a Fork's resident could be. Jacob was already impressed by the Smashing Pumpkins shirt he had on, and his black high top converses. His torn jeans looked as if they had seen better days. Of course, Jacob didn't know that two hours prior Harry had been successfully mauled by a Lion plant.

"Here, lemme help you with that." He grabbed a couple of the clothes off of the guy, who made no move to get up from where he was sprawled on the floor. "I'll even put in more change for you."

"How kind." Said the elusive Laundromat patron.

Jake laughed, and grabbed another handful of sopping wet, sudsy clothes. The water pouring out of the machine was cold on his bare toes, but he was sure it felt a hell of a lot worse hade he been drenched in it.

Being a guy who was pretty decent with machines, he stuck his head in the thing in an attempt to figure out what went down. It seems like a couple parts connecting the door to the rest of it had rusted up, and the shaking must have pulled a screw loose somewhere. Judging from the damage, and the condition of the craft, it was busted for life.

"You know, I'm pretty sure you need actual _clothes _to be walking around."

"Yeah well—" Jake was about to whip out a snarky reply, but the words got caught up in his throat.

His mind didn't suffer from the same aversion, and his thoughts couldn't have been moving faster, even as he looked like an exhibitionist fool who was choking on his tongue.

They went something like this:

_FUCK. FUCK F—_

The guy had picked himself up from the shallow ocean of dirty water, and Jacob belated realized that it wasn't a guy.

No, it was some sort of beautiful, god defying creature.

That, or his imprint.

He blinked up at him with these mesmerizing seaweed colored eyes, and Jake's mouth kind of fell open in shock, because god damn, they were fucking _green._

He took another good look at them, at the Adonis holding a heap of sopping wet clothes, wet hair sticking to his forehead, the sallow tendons of his neck and the mobile chords of his shoulder, before he turned around and ran.

(the fact that he was mostly streaking through town came later)

But really.

What else could he have done?

—

—


	2. Little Secrets

**Make Light**

**!**

_Chapter Two: Little Secrets_

Harry would have thought more of the strange boy-man in pink boxers had it really been all that strange. Considering he'd seen worse, Harry just sort of shrugged and picked up his clothes, shoveling the rest of them into another, more applicable looking washer. This one didn't even have mold on the sides. A couple of charmed lint pieces turned into quarters and the thing was chugging along as if there was never an issue in the first place. If one could overlook the massive spillage coming from the unhinged machine two doors over, that is.

Pootie Tang was watching him from her seat slouched on the far side of the Laundromat, as her pee-child rubbed his hands over most of the chairs.

Harry decided to stand.

"Tackle an ocean there, did you?" Charlie chuckled, rubbing at the back of his copper colored hair, and tossing Harry a water.

The wizard caught it, before sinking into a couch and trying to shake out the water in his hair. It didn't work.

"Tried my hand at the Laundromat today." He said conversationally.

"How'd it go?"

'Terrible. It exploded." As Charlie got a great laugh out of this, Harry took a swig of his water. "Yeah, it happens a lot apparently. That's what the guy said, anyway."

"What guy?" Charlie tilted his head.

Harry shrugged. "Oh, just some other kid I met." And then, with a pause. "Strange bloke. He was wearing a really thin pair of pink shorts… and nothing else."

"Exciting." Were Charlie's intense word's of wisdom, before he changed the subject. "Anyway, why don't you come in today? Help me and some of the new guys out with the Ironbelly?"

Harry blanched. "Isn't that one of the more… temperamental breeds?"

Charlie laughed. "Hell yeah. But you can handle it." For extra effort, he gave Harry a loud shoulder clap, before getting up and swaggering to the other side of the room. Harry could tell he'd had a couple drinks that evening, as he veered to the left when he walked.

He took a moment, before remarking, "Sounds fun."

The sarcasm was lost upon the inebriated Charlie, who continued onwards to his room, laughing loudly.

The dragon tamer's housing was rather expansive, and mostly empty. As most dragon tamer's were solitary creatures of the wild, they mostly slept in tents around the reserve. For example, old Whethersprout, who wasn't really old at all but looked to be about thirty-eight, hardly ever came down from the mountain range.

Harry supposed Dragon Tamers were just like that, though. Did what they wanted, moved where they wanted, working in solitude.

He mused that maybe he'd learn to prefer the profession.

.

.

.

The following day found Jacob legitimately freaking out.

"I must've looked like _such _a tool!" The shifter kicked a tree. Climactically, it groaned and keeled over, falling into the brambles with a resounding thud.

Anticlimactically, Paul seemed absolutely unmoved by his gesture of profound disturbance.

"Yo, calm the fuck down." The guy flipped a page in his car magazine.

Jacob howled in what could have been considered rage, but was mostly depression.

"Fuck! He probably thinks I'm a dumbass. How could I just run out like that?" And then, with great remorse, "Where the fuck did my balls go?"

Paul finally looked up, laughing aloud. "_Dude_, they've been gone."

Jacob tossed upturned dirt at him.

The two had finished patrol, and had found a clearing to wait around in as they waited for Sam and Seth to finish up. Seeing as though it was Seth's first time round the perimeter, Sam wanted to make sure it was something of a group effort. They'd all meet up and make the final stretch home as a pack.

Commemorative gestures, or something like that.

Jake didn't really care. He was more upset over the fact he looked like a total douche in front of his imprint.

His imprint, for god's sake.

"I'm gonna be with him for the rest of my life!" He said, more to himself, but with his head tilted to the sky it sort of looked like he was praying in disbelief to god. "And I've already fucked it up."

"Obviously not for life then, huh?"

This was why Jake didn't like Paul.

He was an ass.

He didn't just look like one on the off occasion without meaning to (ahem, like some people), he was just a vindictive dick in general.

"You're still freaking out about this?" Quil emerged from the trees, pulling on his pants. "You'll have tons of other times to make a better impression. Calm down."

"That's what I've been saying!" Said Paul.

"No, you've just been constructively mocking me." Pointed out Jacob, with much sarcasm.

Embry followed soon after.

There wasn't much else Jake could do besides plop onto the ground, legs crossed and hands supporting him from behind. Beside him, Paul didn't seem to understand his dilemma at all, the fact only made marginally more acceptable because the shifter had yet to experience imprinting yet anyway. Sam would know, but quite honestly, Jake couldn't see himself having a heart to heart with Sam, of all people.

"He doesn't even know who I am." Sighed the Quileute. And then, with growing degrees of horror, "Or shifting, or _imprinting_."

Not knowing how to console him, the clearing went quiet.

Jake shifted his head into his hands. "I'm so _fucked_." He said, with feeling.

Again, no answer.

"I don't even know where to find him." The wolf muttered miserably.

What the hell was wrong with him? When had he turned into such a pansy? Seriously, this was getting ridiculous. He'd met some kid at a Laundromat for a total of a minute and a half and suddenly it was like a cornerstone of his world had been ripped out and he was now standing on the lilted axis of what was once his reality. And it sucked. Sucked _bad._

"It'll be okay, Jake." Embry spoke up, though he looked like he wasn't quite sure of the words himself. "He's gotta be around here somewhere, right? Kids don't just make vacations to Forks." What was incredibly ironic was that, there were some who did. One of them being the boy in question. "Generally, they're here for the long haul."

"This isn't exactly a five star restort." Quil agreed wryly, gesturing to the dense forest around them.

Jake sighed. "Or he could just be stopping on his way to Port Angeles, or Seattle, or like, Vancouver or something. Maybe he was a hippie on a road trip? Or in some shitty bar band? Or—

"Well let's not get ahead of ourselves." Embry interrupted quickly, looking more stricken by the moment. It was completely unlike Jake to get so moody and emotional.

And then he remembered Bella Swan.

And quickly amended his statement.

When it comes to matters of the heart, Jake couldn't be any more of a sappy romantic puppy. And that was really the heart of the issue. Because this wasn't some infatuation for some girl with a suicidal streak. No, this was imprinting. And this was serious. This was someone that Jake had no control over, someone he was destined to love with the utmost adoration. The worst part was, it was never guaranteed if the imprintee would do the same.

"Why don't we head into town tomorrow? Ask around or something. I'm sure its probably all the rage with the high school kids if there's some new kid around here."

It went unsaid, but they were all remembering the waves Bella had spread on her first move to the dreary town of Forks.

.

.

.

The reserve was ridiculous.

There was no other word to describe its inordinate vastness. Who needed so much space? Dragons, obviously. This whole thing must cover the entirety of Vancouver Island, considering how much it spread over mountainous terrain and sloped hills, dusted with snow at some points and frosted grass.

Harry snuggled further into his enormous winter jacket, lined with charmed fire-ferret fur that brushed against his cheeks. The three of them, he Charlie and one of Charlie's dragon tamer friends, all wore similar outfits of dragon hide boots, denim and thick jackets.

Harry was glad he took the offered clothing, because it was so ungodly cold he could have attempted to cast thirty warming charms and they all would fizzle out of existence in mere moments.

In the distance, there was a clot of smoke rising over the waves of hills, to which he assumed Wethersprout had made camp at.

"There it is." Charlie pointed to the thin tendril of smoke climbing into the air some distance away. "Wethersprout's there. Prolly found the nest by now."

"Nest?" Harry echoed, voice rising.

Doris, the man who was accompanying them, looked to him, confused. "Well o' course!" His voice held a thick Scottish accent. "What do ya think we're here for? The Ironbelly's laid eggs, she has. Got to check on 'em."

Harry's already disturbed face may have gotten paler, descending into varying degrees of horror. He'd had his fair share of encounters with maternal instincts and fierce protective dragons. It wasn't an event he'd like to relive.

"Well come on you two!" Charlie called from quite a ways ahead of them, where he'd already trekked down the hill and was making his way over to the camp. "We've got a long way to go from here!"

Doris jogged up to his pace. Harry sighed.

This was going to be a long and tedious day.

His assumptions were correct.

Dragon taming was a romanticized career. Girls swooned over the thought of rugged, handsome men in their dragonhide boots and flame-repellant gloves, camping out in the wilderness among the stars, picturesque bonfire brightening the campsite. Perhaps Harry had sort of been under that illusion as well. While the rugged handsome men part was sort of a hit or miss—and in Charlie's case, direct bullseye—the perfect campsite and perfect job were completely off the mark. It was a perfect job for those who enjoyed singed eyebrows and being a hairsbreath away from being roasted, enjoyed being slammed into rock walls and eventually being chased out of a dragon's den, forced to retreat into the bitter cold.

This wasn't exactly Harry's idea of a vacation, but when faced with the thought of his silent apartment, of Ginny turned to the window, breath frosting the glass and looking like she'd conquered the dream, and now lingered in the bitter aftertaste, of the rug which was always crooked and the soap which was always wrong; he decided this was the better option.

Though perhaps there was something romantic about camping out among the stars.

It wasn't like Britain, where very few of them twinkled past the smog. They were a kaleidoscope of bright lights, glowing until the sky was lit and the ground was darkened.

Harry spent the majority of the night staring into the slow, spinning galaxy.

And come morning, he was blessedly thankful for the hot coffee placed before him.

The three ended up in a local Forks diner, of which had certainly seen better days, Harry pressed into the end of the window booth as the rest of the seat had been taken over by their enormous coats. Charlie looked disturbingly chipper this morning, and Dorris' blonde hair stuck straight up, as did his beard.

"I think we made some progress." Charlie mused pleasantly around his toast. "We should head back up there tomorrow to check on them."

Harry wondered if everyone in the profession was slightly suicidal, or just Charlie.

Doris, at least, seemed to be having second thoughts. "The hatchlings are a little young, don't you think?" He asked hesitantly. "Maybe we should go a bit later. Wait 'till the mums cooled down a bit."

Charlie looked like he agreed, and Harry stabbed fruitlessly at his pancake.

Legally insane—all of them.

Harry had nothing against dragons. He adored the Ridgebacks, who all seemed to adore him as well, and the Peruvian Vipertooth really was a work of natural beauty—but there was something incredibly stupid at the thought of willfully entering a dragon's den, a mother with recent hatchlings, at that, and not expecting to get fried to hell.

.

.

.

"So…" Embry held it up to inspect. "This is the only lead we've got?"

The three of them, Jake, Quil, and Embry, had made their way back to the rundown Laundromat where it all began. It was woefully sparse of any 'imprint-boy' clues, aside from his sock which had been left on top of the washer for a full day now. It officially smelt more like the pee-scent of the Laundromat then anything else.

"This was the machine." Jake gestured to the still unfixed washer in front of them. "So I hope to god it's the right one."

Quil sniffed the sock. "It smells like a human male, alright. There's something… spicy about it, don't you think?"

"Exotic?" Embry asked aloud. "Huh. You sure this guy wasn't like, an Asian monk or something? I've never smelt anything like this."

"I didn't really notice at the time." Jake shrugged. "The water from the machine was masking his scent. He looked like a regular kid to me though."

"Well there's no point in thinking about it now. I'm going to head down Cedar Avenue and see if I can pick anything up!" He turned to Jake. "You take Campbell Street, and Embry'll take Division. We'll all meet up and comb the rest of the town, okay?"

Jake nodded wordlessly, though he looked even more dejected then he had been before. Most likely because this entire effort was looking more futile by the moment.

As the three split up, none particularly expected to find the lead they were looking for.

Which made it incredibly more amusing that, after a long hour of searching to no avail, they found the object of their morning lounging in the back booth of the Forks diner. Jake could have cried in relief.

The three had grown incredibly hungry after hunting around the small town of Forks for so long, and had decided upon gorging themselves on the enormous portions of cheap food.

There was very little that Jake could completely pinpoint about the boy, aside from the vivid, unimaginable green of his eyes and askew dark hair, but it was almost like he'd subconsciously traced every detail from their ninety second encounter. He looked worn out, like he'd been fighting a rancor for the better part of the morning, wearing a long sleeved shirt and hair windswept. It was his eyes though, that really perfected the image. They were glowing so brightly that Jake could make the emerald of them out from his spot at the bar.

He choked on his milk, and Embry turned to him questioningly.

"Heimlich maneuver?" He questioned jokingly, most likely wanting to break a couple ribs.

Jake waved him off. "No its—its—…" He sputtered a little more, sort of at a loss for words. It was weird, almost frighteningly so, to sit a few feet away from the boy who haunted his dreams for the better part of the week. Like finally meeting the object of your desires after so long preparing yourself for it, then finding they're so much… greater in person and getting impossibly nervous in their presence.

At this point, Quil had turned around as well, following Jake's gaze. "No way—is that—?"

"What?" Embry spun around. "Where? Where!"

Jake made a vague noise in the back of his throat, like he was slowly having a nervous breakdown.

Embry eventually found their gaze, and the three stared blatantly from across the semi-crowded early-morning rush.

He looked… normal.

But there was something entirely _off _about him.

The tall redhead imprint-boy was with turned to their waitress—she looked familiar—and flashed her a smile as she handed him the cheque. Jake's imprint attempted to grab it first but the redhead had maneuvered it successfully away from him. He eventually was able to throw the tip down, before they all stood and grabbed their coats.

Jake looked like he was going to bolt over there and tackle him straight into the window.

Embry did a double take at his friend, who was already half-lunging out his stool, and held him back with a strong arm. "Hey—whoa! Calm down there Jake. You're not thinking about this."

"Yeah." Quil agreed, and Jake wondered when the two of them had got so smart—or he so stupid. "What are you gonna do when you get over there? Freak him out? He's human, Jake. He doesn't know anything about your more… special qualities."

The large boy took a deep breath, inhaling slowly before slumping back into his chair. "You're right."

There was a depressing note in his voice that had never been in their before. Quil gave him a sympathetic look, rubbing his friend's shoulder.

"But when will we see him again?" Jake looked miffed and upset all at once, speaking to both of them. "It was like, a fucking miracle we even saw him today."

Jake had a point. They spent the better part of the morning combing the streets on a barely-there lead of a musty, dripping wet sock. It was by a miraculous stroke of luck that they ended up taking a break at the same place the boy was eating his breakfast. It was impossible that their luck would ever turn out the same.

He blinked, before smiling ruggishly. "Don't worry Jake, I got this."

The shifter looked up, questioningly, but Embry was already swaggering to the computers, where their waitress was closing their cheque.

"Hey!" He called to her, and she spun around. "You're Jessica, right?"

The girl looked confused that Embry could possibly know her.

"Yeah," Embry was saying, as one hand quickly swiped something off of the counter. "You're Bella Swan's friend, right? You guys came down to La Push once—

It took Embry about three seconds flat to get the girl from cautious to jumping in ecstatic joy. "Really?" She was gushing. "_You _guys are Bella's cliff diving friends? That's _so _amazing…"

Eventually Embry swaggered back to them, plopping down beside a moping Jake and curious Quil, as he dropped something in front of the shifters.

Coins.

Jake sniffed at them. They smelt a bit like burnt bacon and Embry's hand… but mostly…

"They're his." Jake breathed in, and there it was, that perfect, tingling smell that he'd never quite smelt anything like before.

Embry nodded with a smirk. "You can kiss my feet now."

.

.

.


	3. Eyes like Candles

** Make Light**

**!**

_Chapter Two: Eyes like Candles_

Harry spent a few minutes backtracking, wondering how his life worked where, at one point, he had lived in the most expensive flat in Diagon Alley with his girlfriend, avoiding the cameras and holding a ludicrous amount of press conferences, living in a world where everyone knew his face, his words, and his name. Looked to him as the strongest wizard alive.

Certainly, no one was looking at him like that in Forks High School.

And he could have cried in relief.

Him and Jessica, a girl in his first period, had become fast friends, though she sort of reminded him of Ginny at times. She had an immature, vapid air to her, though genuinely it seemed she attempted to be a good person. Her and Angela almost seemed to take him under their wing, calling him one of the new Forks kids and vowing to start a game of ultimate Frisbee with him. He'd never heard of such a thing, but was alright to try.

This had all started the day after disaster day, a day which started with a phone call from Ginny.

She wasn't angry anymore, though she hadn't a right to be in the first place. Perhaps she'd learned that he was nothing like she thought, he wasn't tamable, or manageable, or _whole._ He'd always been a broken sort of person, and she always tried to fix him. Though he needed none of it_. _Personally, Harry thought she was scared. Scared that the war didn't worry him. That facing down Voldemort had seemed like the most logical thing in the world to him. It hadn't been for her, and still sometimes, she'd wander off in a daze, remembering a time in their lives full of heavy-lead fear and an overwhelming amount of despair. Sometimes, she'd give him that look, like she couldn't quite believe who he was.

_"I'm sorry." She said, thickly, and Harry knew how hard that was for her to say. __"I've been… treating you wrongly, and I know that. It just seems like… like there's no way to get me to see you otherwise."_

_"Ginny…" Harry had sighed. __"You know it's not like that."_

_"It is though." There was something burning hopeless in her voice, that hadn't been there before. The worst part though, the worst part was that there were a thousand things he'd rather do then console her. __"Where did we go wrong, Harry? I don't understand. I don't understand you anymore…"_

_"I haven't changed __Ginny." He emphasized, almost irritated. __"What are you talking about? It's not me who's changing it's—" Us. He had wanted to say. Maybe they were growing, in opposite directions._

_"Who, me?" Ginny laughed bitterly. Harry tried to imagine her, phone pressed to her ear, fiddling with the orchids in front of the bay windows that overlooked the plaza, the ones that changed colors and giggled when you tickled their chins. __"It's you, Harry. I can't help but feel like I've done this to you somehow. I've manipulated you into something that isn't you anymore, and for that I'm sorry—_

_"You haven't manipulated me into anything." He snapped, wondering where she'd gotten the impression she could. __"Are you really calling to apologize, Ginny? That's really not like you."_

_"Then you really don't know me at all then, do you?" She asked softly._

He didn't know what to say to that, so he let it fall into uneasy silence.

_"Maybe I have changed." She mused then. __"Maybe it's you who hasn't grown at all."_

He'd been leaning against the wall, tapping it irately and hoping Charlie didn't walk in. His eyes snapped open. _"And what exactly are you trying to imply?" _

_"Forget it. Anyway, I didn't call to argue." There was shifting on the other side of the line. __"I'm leaving, Harry."_

_"To Dean?" He couldn't help it. It was sort of obvious. There was no sting of jealousy, if there had been one at all, just a dull sort of understanding._

_"Of course not." Which was an entire lie. __"This is just goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, as us. I'm sure we'll meet again… as entirely different people. But I can't live like this anymore."_

He'd been lounging in his room, shirtless and plaid pajama pants low on his hips, but at that he lunged off the wall and made for Charlie's room. There was something frightening about her words.

_"Ginny…" She couldn't possibly mean... __"Ginny, whatever you're thinking of doing, I swear it's not worth it. Not over me."_

_"Over you? Not at all. This is for me, Harry." It was like watching all their precious moments play over him like soundless film, crackling with the strain of many years, diluted by many bitter words, but burning ephemeral in their nostalgic, poignant moments. __"I hate admitting it, but sometimes you really are right. I think you might've been right about me all along. It's me who makes all the problems, who can't let go of everything. Of Dean, our problems, the war—god Harry, the war. How can you expect me to let that go? Maybe you're stuck—but I'm stuck too. We're growing apart, but we're not really growing, __you know? Maybe you've got it right, moving on to the next adventure. I think I should too."_

He was fumbling with the door, sprinting to Charlie's side of the house.

_"I'll see you around, Harry."_

_"Wait—Ginny—hold on—_

She had already hung up, though, and Harry slammed the door open to Charlie's bedroom, scaring the redheaded dragon tamer into a tumble on the floor. He'd immediately started to connect to Ginny's phone again, though she had turned off her Wizard to Muggle phone connection. Charlie phoned his house, making sure that Ginny was okay. She'd been staying at the Burrow, and after many soothing words of Mrs. Weasley the two were sufficiently calmed that Ginny wasn't in any danger from herself.

Harry couldn't really accept that, though, and he'd ended up using Charlie's floo network to arrive in a rainy, mucky London which seemed near identical to the Olympian peninsula. He thought he'd been slick leaving the way he did, but apparently a few days of Ginny coming and going without him in tow had created quite a scandal, and the tabloids raged upon him like a giant storm the moment he landed in Diagon Alley.

After dodging the majority of them, he was able to discern his now completely vacated apartment above the Coffee and Trinkets shop which sold more pumpkin juice then both of those combined. The curtains of the bay windows had been shut tightly closed, and for a brief moment, Harry wondered how the orchids were doing, and for that matter, his belongings in general.

The rest of disaster day had more to do with standing in his silent apartment, collecting his belongings from where he'd left them what seemed like decades ago, squinting them out in the dim lighting, fingering the dust that coated all the furniture, seeing the bar of soap in the tub and the bottle of milk on the refrigerator shelf, all of which seemed to meaningless now but all of which seemed to have crawled between them at the time.

There was nothing of Ginny in the one bedroom flat they shared, aside from the lingering smell of her perfume, which now mingled with the musty smell of the wooden floor and the fresh brewed nettle tea from below.

Though he hadn't heard from her directly, Charlie assured him that she was perfectly fine back at the Burrow.

But he'd decided that it was time for a break from the Wizarding world. Too many cameras, articles in the paper with his face on the front page. Of people whispering his name as he walked by them. They probably needed a break from him too. Though if he wanted to be truthful, really, it was because there was nothing to do. He could join Ron as an Auror, sure, though the appeal had been lost as he realized how insignificant and useless they were. He could teach, though he didn't know what.

Enrolling into Forks had just seemed right. Charlie was out sniffing out dragons around the northwest coast, Neville was taming his carnivorous plants, and Harry, well, Harry was going to school. The only thing besides defeating Dark Lords that he really knew how to do.

There were few things that Harry _did know_ how to do.

Lacrosse, apparently, was one of them.

"You're a natural." One of the guys out on the field—which was perpetually muddy, and mostly looked like a fixture of dirt rather than grass—commented with a wide, surprised grin. "Got some crazy hand eye coordination."

Harry thought of the snitch, and maneuvering his eyes and his body towards it, stretching out his hand through torrents of rain thousands of feet above the air. Catching a ball in a stick was easy compared to that. "I guess I'm just athletic like that."

"Yeah?" He was built like a tank, his maverik shirt doing nothing to hide the enormous muscles. It took him little effort to scoop the ball one handed and cradle it. "You play any sports?"

Harry thought back to a sport, any sport, which Dudley had ever taken interest in. As a stoner and the most unphysical teenager in existence, there was very few. He had attempted a rec league football team in his childhood, though mostly he cried on the sidelines and ate snacks as Petunia cooed over him.

"Football."

The guy looked impressed. "Huh. Guess you're sort of built like a Runningback. Probably a speedster, huh?"

Harry blinked. A what…?

"I think he's talking about soccer."

Harry spun around, as another boy approached them. He looked nervous, which was odd, considering that he looked very athletic and had a good few inches on the majority of the guys in their phys ed class. He kept looking nervously to where Eric and Mike were fake wrestling in the mud.

The other guy made a sound of realization. "Oh… Yeah that's right, you're British. Forgot they call it that over there."

The nervous looking kid gave him an annoyed glance.

"I'm Emmet, by the way." The burly man-boy introduced himself, holding out his hand and giving Harry the biggest hand shake he'd ever received, with slapping and dramatics and a snap at the end. "This is my brother Jasper."

Jasper inclined his head, looking like he felt sick at the very thought of other human contact.

"Soccer, huh?" Emmett echoed lazily, scratching his head. "Well, me and Jasper here are pretty good at most sports—not to be a cocky bitch, or anything—but maybe you'll give us a run for our money."

Unlikely, but Harry only laughed.

Gym was the period right before lunch, and though mostly they did nothing, as the coach could care less, occasionally Mike and Eric dragged him into their intense games of ultimate Frisbee, a sort of faux-sport that Forks was legendary for in some circles. Or so Mike said, anyway. The guy was a great thrower, generally passing to Harry, who apparently had the best catching record in the school so far.

Generally Emmett sat the games out, and even though most of the guys were on amicable terms with him, Emmett seemed to keep his distance. Harry chalked it up to his brother Jasper, who looked like he had some sort of allergy to all human contact.

By the end of his first week there, it almost seemed like he'd spent his entire life in Forks.

He was almost amused by it all—how could he possibly forget everything that had happened to him? Of Hogwarts, the broken school he loved more then anything else in the entire world, now just a destroyed castle, a handful of alumni and six years' worth of memories. Of walking up the stairs to Gringotts, a marble masterpiece looming lopsided in front of him.

It was a break, he promised himself. A chance to enjoy an entirely different kind of life. No pressure, no obligations, aside from pretending to be worried about going to college.

"Oh, Harry you're home!" Charlie pried off his gloves, smoothing out his slightly singed hair. "You'll never believe it—but we finally got a good look at the hatchlings!" Well, it had only taken about four weeks. "They're beautiful. Do you have school tomorrow? You should come up with us and see them."

"I do tomorrow," Harry admitted truthfully, fumbling around the communal kitchen for a gillywater. "How about the day after? I hear it'll be good weather then."

Charlie laughed merrily. "Good weather? When is there ever good weather around here?" But this hardly deterred him. "Alright, Saturday, you better be prepared for a grand adventure!"

"I will be sure to." Harry smiled, the sarcasm lost on the jovial Weasley.

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.

Harry had been counting on the extent of his physical activity for the week being clamoring himself over steep mountains around the general area of the Olympic Peninsula, looking for a giant Ukranian Ironbelly that was most likely haunting the skies with her young. Luckily, they had the element of weather on their hands, and the muggles most likely wouldn't be able to tell the giant grey colored dragon from the giant grey colored clouds. The reserve was massive, though apparently not enough for the Ukranian dragon, which was supposed to have a good fifty miles of space to roam the skies after birth—and considering that the Vancouver reserve was only about fifteen, this was quite an issue. Wethersprout had been monitoring its travels for the majority of its time out of the reserve, confounding muggles and watching over the younglings, making sure they didn't fall into the ocean or anything.

He hadn't expected to be running a timed mile, or any sort of timed running, in general.

Aside from making the House team, the extent of Hogwarts physical activity requirements was trekking down to Care of Magical Creatures, and even then, it was an optional class. The majority of the tryouts for the House teams didn't require strenuous running, either. Not when everyone was riding brooms, anyway.

For muggles though, and the obesity epidemic which the coach continued to rant about, running the mile was some sort of milestone of one's highschool career.

Said Eric, anyway.

"I'm a drama nerd." The guy bemoaned. "I'm not cut out for this kind of shit, you know? Every year I have to bust my ass off trying to get a time under seven minutes."

Mike, however, looked pumped. "Don't be such a limp dick Eric. You got like a six ten your freshmen year."

"Freshmen." Eric emphasized. "And anyway, that was a long time ago. I barely made it last year."

"Yeah, well don't try keeping pace with me then." He puffed his chest. "Football tryouts I got a four forty."

Eric scoffed. "Don't even listen to him brag." He told Harry, who was eying the track reluctantly. The girls went first, most of them clutching each other and giggling as they ran. Some of the stragglers were still walking in. "He's just saying that because Jessica's around to hear him."

Speaking of Jessica, she was walking off her mile time with a large grin on her face, apparently quite used to coming in first. She gave a wave to Mike, who, if possible, looked even more thrilled.

"He's not even the fastest." Eric was saying, as he nervously shifted his weight foot to foot, scuffing the track with his tennis shoes. "Cullen over there could hold the school record if he tried." He gave a head nudge to Emmett, who looked like he could possibly hold the _state record at that. "But he always slows down at the end. Gets bored, I guess."_

Harry gave a quizzical look at Emmett, who seemed to be teasing Jasper about something. "He doesn't play any sports?"

"He should." Mike interrupted. "He'd be _amazing. _You should see the guy mow people over in football—the man is a god. I don't know why he doesn't tryout—said he didn't have the grades."

"Is that right?"

"Kinda." Mike rubbed his head. "He's not exactly… the... smartest… ah fuck it. The guys got a 1.2. My kill death ratio in black ops is better then that."

Emmett erupted into laughter, as if he had heard Mike.

Harry would have thought on it further, had coach not startled him into motion with his loud voice.

Ironically he kept decent pace with Mike, who lead the group after Emmett. Jasper was lagging behind them, looking like he was intentionally trying to keep behind them. Maybe he had spotlight issues too. Two laps in and Mike was wheezing like the Hogwarts Express, though he didn't slow down. If anything, it looked like he was going faster, as Emmett seemed to be closer then he had been.

Eventually, Mike evened out with Emmett, who flashed Harry a grin. "Not bad, new kid." He appraised, looking like he hadn't even sweated a bead.

Harry only shrugged. The extent of his physical activity had been running from the death eaters. Which, actually, was sort of an intense cardiovascular activity, when he thought about it. Six years of Quidditch year round could only help his cause.

"Not too bad yourself." Harry commented, a bit in surprise at how easily Emmett could keep pace. It was almost like he was walking, or not even trying. Mike was right, this guy could be some sort of athlete-prodigy if he wanted to.

The burly boy laughed. "Have you seen my muscles? I'd be crying if I got a time any less then twinkletoes here." He waved over to Jasper, who was still behind them, lagging (or maybe not lagging, as he'd been six feet behind Harry for the entire run), and now glaring.

"Well, twinkletoes isn't so bad himself." Harry rolled his eyes as they approached the finish line.

Mike kicked it into full gear, and Emmett looked like he was about to follow suit. "Hold on, I have a reputation to keep."

It took about half as much time for Emmett to clear the bend as it did Mike, and the larger boy easily slid into the first spot a good two seconds before Mike, slowing to a halt without even a hitch in his breath as Mike buckled on his knees.

"Is he always this exuberant?" Harry asked incredulously to Jasper as they made the bend themselves.

"No, just generally every moment of the day." Jasper scowled sarcastically.

He ended up with a five ten, and after what could have been an hour of ecstatic back clapping by Emmett, hit the lockers. Mike was bemoaning his loss of first place, even though there were no official titles anyway, and Eric was still flushed in the face and looking like he was about to collapse. Harry had thought it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Though after being held under a Cruciatus for more then half a minute, his tolerance for physical pain was sort of warped.

Running was maybe even a welcome burn, Harry thought, as he pulled his shirt on as he sat on the bench beside a sputtering Eric.

"—You think Cullen's built, you should see the Rez kids. Those guys are _tanks._ I swear if they wanted to they could go all fucking Hulk and rip up trees from the Earth or some shit." Mike was saying to one of the guys.

"Rez?" Harry echoed, unfamiliar with this muggle teenage slang.

"The Quileute Reservation." Eric gasped out.

"Yeah. They're fucking beefed. It's unbelievable. Those kids have _got_ to be on steroids. There's no way they can all shoot up that fast unless someone's slipping in some shit."

Harry blinked. "Like… native Americans?" He had a foggy memory of a guy who could have been an enormous professional lifter standing over him at the Laundromat.

"Hell yeah." Mike tossed his water bottle into the trash as they grabbed their stuff for lunch. "Maybe its genetics or something. Didn't they used to run around and hunt buffalo? You've got to get a good mile time doing that."

.

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	4. Seaweed Song

**Make Light**

**!**

_Chapter Four: Seaweed Song_

_._

There were times when Jake wondered how in the hell he got himself into these situations.

This was one of them.

"Uh—Uh—" His eyes moved to the boy in front of him, who stared curiously back with those vivid, beautiful green eyes.

He's perfect, Jake took a moment to admit privately to himself, though it really wasn't the time to do so. Everything about him was perfect. His wild windy hair, his malachite green eyes and the rosy red dash of his mouth against the pale of his skin. He'd think the boy a vampire had he not been able to feel each and every thrum of life beneath the flush of those cheeks. Had he been able to, Jake would most likely have broken down right there, after catching the scent of the boy—who's name he still didn't know—on a patrol, ducking immediately out of his wolf form and fumbling with his pants, which most likely still had the zipper completely down, and skidding to a halt at the rocky cliffs outside the forest, and possibly proclaim his love in the most _lame_ way possible.

But he couldn't.

Because there was a fucking _dragon _behind the boy.

And now he's made an even bigger idiot out of himself.

The boy blinked, looking a bit concerned at the fact that, yes, Jacob had really just spent a disturbingly long amount of time saying nothing while staring at him. "Do I know you?"

"Uh—" Oh come the fuck on Jake, use some god damn words. "I… yeah. Yeah. We met before."

"We did?"

Jake's mind was going haywire between being scared shitless over this gigantic towering mythical creature which shouldn't exist—but then again, vampires and werewolves existed, so why wouldn't dragons?—and the fact that his imprint was actually talking to him.

He'd explode at this rate.

The dragon beat its wings, and a gust sent the boy's hair into a storm around his face. Jake flinched, preparing for the inevitable as the boy turned around, saw the dragon and then _freaked the fuck out _like any sane person. But he didn't. In fact, he didn't seem to notice at all.

Okay, okay.

Breath Jake. Crisis averted.

"Yeah! At the Laundromat." He said after a moment of awkward silence. "I'm Jake."

"Harry." The boy said slowly. Harry. Was it possible to be more perfect?

"Uh—that's great—I mean," Jake shook his head with an embarrassed, rueful smile. "You… you kinda look like a Harry."

"Thanks?" He tilted his head, the dappled sunlight speckling his nose and streaks of his hair with a golden hue.

The dragon tilted it's elongated neck to the side, and Jacob was ready to have a royal fucking freakout because for a moment it looked like it was about to _eat _them both, but it was sniffing the wind to the left of the boy, who was still watching him unabashedly as if he was some strange creep—which wouldn't be _too _far off the truth. It seemed to float in the salty air behind the cliff, gliding upwards until the entirety of its gigantic, scaled body came into view.

Oh _god._

Harry, completely oblivious, blinked. "Are you one of those Rez kids?"

For a moment, Jacob hadn't even heard him, more concerned over the towering, looming form of a fucking dragon right behind the boy of his dreams. Could there possibly be a moment of _worse _timing? Jacob didn't think so. Eventually, he shook himself out of his unadulterated fear of the monstrous creature—but really, who could blame him?—"Rez? Wait, yeah, yeah. The reservation." And then, "How did you know?"

"I go to school in Forks." He said by way of explanation. Jake could have cried in relief. So he wasn't some dweeb in a shitty rockband. Or, for that matter, temporary. "They were talking about you guys the other day?"

"Good things, I hope." Jake chuckled weakly, feeling like he was on some absurd emotion roller-coaster, and getting to the point where he was ignoring most of it, perhaps in the aftermath of utter relief.

Harry smirked. Jake swooned (hopefully, not too noticeably). "What's your mile time, Jake?"

_And he used my name! _There was only so much a young shape shifter could take in happiness per day. His gauge was overflowing. "My… mile time?" Then he realized the actual words out of his imprint's mouth and he scratched his head. Strange question, but Jake was no fool to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he said it was most likely under two minutes, he wondered how retarted he would sound. "I'm not sure… Good, I guess."

"You guys have quite a reputation of being—"beefed", I think the word was?"

"Swole, you mean?" Harry looked positively confused. Ah, that British accent, obviously not from around here. How was it possible for every single instance of him, the unruly hair and bright eyes and for god's sake even the way he spoke to somehow congeal together into the most undeniably perfect person in the world? "It—means the same thing. Muscled, pretty much."

Harry's eyes trailed down his mostly naked form. Jacob felt the heat wash over him as if his gaze was palpable. "No kidding there." The boy joked. If possible, Jake flushed further.

The dragon seemed to have spot something off in the distance, head snapping to the far side of the bay, before it lifted itself higher into the air. "Is it always this windy?" Harry asked as his hair was once more blown into his face. Jake hoped he wasn't _too _conspicuous, gaping incredulously as the giant creature hoisted itself into the air with a maelstrom of wind, before it took off in the other direction like a bullet.

He watched its form fade into the distance, feeling like he stepped into some sort of fairytale. "Yeah," He answered, dazedly. "It's the ocean breeze, y'know? Sometimes it gets pretty wild around here."

"You live around here?"

"Right on the beach." Harry smiled at this. A thought slithered into Jake's mind. "Hey, you know, I can show you around if you want. The Reservation has one of the best beaches this side of Cali."

Harry looked like he was about to take the offer, before a weary look fell on his face. "Hmm, maybe some other time, huh? I'm—kind of in the middle of something right now."

Jake tried not to let the disappointment leak onto his face. "Nah, it's cool. Some other time then."

Most likely there would have been another awkward silence, had Paul, loveable, moronic, generally bad-timed Paul managed to save the day, barreling out of the trees like a hunk of equally tanned, lean muscle, khaki shorts on and not much else.

"Yo!" He greeted, looking from Jake to Harry in mild surprise. "Uh—?"

Jake gulped. Oh god, please, if you're out there, don't let Paul run his _stupid _mouth. "Paul." Jake hissed warningly. Before turning towards Harry with what could have been a complete turnabout of facial feature. "Harry, this is a friend of mine, Paul. He's nice, though he doesn't use his brain very often."

"I resent that—

It worked, and Harry cracked a smile.

It wasn't long before Embry joined, obviously with more intelligence then Paul as he looked from Jake to Harry and put the pieces together. And, thankfully, he had both articles of clothing in place, and looked marginally presentable. "Sup?" He greeted.

Harry was looking more bewildered by the moment.

Jake wasn't sure what to make of his confused expression, hoping that his equally enormous pack wouldn't be completely scaring the guy off.

"I'm Embry."

Embry, at least, had the good decency to saunter up to the brunette and shake his hand, before giving him quite a jovial clap on the back.

"You new here?"

Harry nodded. "Just moved a few weeks ago, actually."

"Cool, cool. You're going to school then?"

"FHS." He rubbed his nose. "But I only transferred a week ago. It's been a little hectic, uh, getting the house together and stuff."

"Spartans, huh?" Embry grinned cheekily. "We play'em next week. Not a bad football team. You thinking of joining?"

"Football?" Harry blinked.

"Right, sorry," Embry made a vague gesture with his hand, just as Quil emerged from the forest. "American football. Hell, if Forks had a good soccer team. They're some shit."

Harry grinned. "So I've heard. But no, I'm not on the football team. Suppose I'd get myself crushed the first second of the play."

"You'd make a good runningback."

He hummed in response. Yes, Jacob agreed, eyes trailing the boy's body, he certainly would. "You're the second person who's asked me that." And then, after a beat of silence. "I think I'll try out for the lacrosse team."

"You serious?" Embry blinked. The rest of them seemed to appraise him in a new light.

"Yeah, it seems really popular around here." Harry noted. Jake wanted to point out that it was native americans-maybe not his tribe in particular-that had started the sport in the first place, so it seemed only natural that they'd play. But Harry, of course, was blissfully ignorant of Quileute legends and customs. If he wasn't, then perhaps somehow getting around to the whole imprinting thing would have been a significantly _lesser _issue weighing in on Jake's mind.

"No kidding." Embry chuckled. "We're all pretty good, y'know. We should play sometime."

Harry looked a bit cowed. "Err-yeah, sure." He hedged.

Jake hoped he wasn't too intimidated by the sudden appearance of four large men.

The shorter boy looked at the four of them, Quil taking the time to wave a bit obnoxiously from behind Jake. "Huh." He lamented. "The guys weren't kidding—no steroids involved, right?"

Paul must've burst his spleen laughing that hard. "_Fuck _no." And then he smirked. "Just a lot of gym time."

Harry gave a quizzical smile. He didn't think they were all gym douches, did he? Oh damn, he _knew _Paul was going to say something moronic.

"Well, anyway, I've really got to get going." Harry checked his watch, having surreptitiously transfigured one out of a bracelet he'd been wearing. "But it was really nice meeting you all."

Jake could feel his face fall. Already?

"Wait—hey!" Harry turned, from where he was making a bee line towards the forest. "Do you want directions… or something? The forest can be a little hard to navigate."

Harry only threw him a knowing smile that made Jake's breath catch in his breath.

"I think I'll be okay."

Before he turned in and ducked beneath the low swoop of a branch. Jake turned to Embry, who was giving him a shrug. Paul seemed casual about the whole thing, and Quil was still grinning like a loon.

"Should we go after him?" Jake looked back to the forest.

"Maybe just in case." Embry agreed. "He might actually get lost."

"So, that's the guy, huh?" Paul leered. "Well, you coulda done a hell of a lot worse, Jake." He laughed, as he clapped the smaller shape shifter on the back. Jake blinked in confusion, before bristling.

"What's _that _supposed to mean?"

But the three of them were already following Harry's scent into the forest. It smelt mostly like damp earth and the heady smell of trees, though Harry's smell was so distinct the four had little trouble finding it. "So where'd the others run off to?" Jake asked, eyes closed, breathing in the deep smell of the forest, hints of Harry harmonizing over it.

"Went ahead. We figured we'd just swing by and pick you up, you did run off pretty quick y'know."

"Sorry."

Though he wasn't, really.

"Hey—" Quil stopped abruptly, causing Embry to almost run into him, and in turn Jake. "Where'd it go?"

"Where'd _what _go?"

"The trail, you moron."

"Wha—" Jake's eyes opened. They were right. It faded to a halt at the stump of this tree. He stared at it, like it could possibly have an answer. If it was staring back, he'd never know. "You're right." He searched the forest beseechingly, though the lofty pines held no answers.

.

.

.

Harry hoped he'd come off as a normal kid, as he struggled out of the bramble that he'd gotten tangled in after apparition.

Merlin's beard, who knew that pretending to be a muggle was so _difficult? _They're weird pop culture references, even weirder slang-lingo, and furthermore, the sports. God, did no one ever shut up about the sports? Not even die-hard Quidditch fans were this insistent about talking about it, though, Quidditch was only one sport, and the muggle world seemed to have a list that bordered three-thousand. Water polo. Really?And gyms! Why did every muggle boy seem so intent on refining their muscles? Harry was significantly aware that he'd never have the frame to be anywhere near those kids, and was content with himself _without _"hitting" the gym every few days, whatever that meant.

Though they were nice, mostly. Jake was a bit unnerving, but not any worse than Colin Creevey and brother Dennis, Potter stalkers extraordinaire. Not to mention Rita Skeeter, who seemed to orgasm at the very thought of a juicy story about Harry Potter.

He sneered, casting a quick directional charm to navigate his way through the forest and back to Charlie.

Dragon hunting—what a mess. Obviously his notice-me-not charm had faded, because that kid—Jake?—had spotted him quite easily for a muggle. The three—Charlie, Whethersprout, and him—had all geared up for some nice Dragon-hunting sport around the greater Olympic Peninsula area, all with broomsticks to better analyze the state of the hatchlings. Whethersprout, the fool, had flown too close and had nearly gotten roasted. He was now missing his left eyebrow and most of his beard, though he didn't look terribly too upset about the missing facial hair, mostly he looked pleased he was able to see the three horns growing atop the hatchling's spine.

Crazy, the lot of them.

"There you are, Harry!" Charlie flagged him over as he stood near one of the nondescript craggy basins that seemed to dot the entire shore. "Find any of them?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sorry." Though he'd been certain he'd seen the Ironbelly fly over to that cliff ridge he'd been inspecting before he met Jake and his friends of equal WWE stature. Maybe he'd seen wrong…

Charlie gave a sigh, though he was anything but dismayed. If anything, he looked more delighted then usual. "Well, there's always tomorrow!"

Harry could have groaned at his enthusiasm, had he the energy. It was hard to keep up with Charlie, who seemed to have a zeal of optimism that couldn't quite be continued—with anything.

"Ah, but you have school, don't you?" Charlie remembered suddenly, much to Harry's evident relief. "To think you've enrolled again; seven years wasn't enough?"

Harry refrained from admitting to Charlie that, aside from Qudditch, there wasn't anything else he knew _besides _going to school. He wasn't about to study law like Hermione, or enroll in the auror program like Ron, or, or tame carnivorous plants like Neville. He only shrugged instead. "Seemed like the logical thing to do."

"Well, when you come over for the hols, be sure to tell pop!" Charlie laughed. "He'll be grilling you for _hours _on muggle school—you know how he is with muggle trinkets. Absolutely incorrigible."

Harry was going to point out that Charlie also had an incorrigible obsession, albeit with dangerous, fire-breathing magical creatures. He sustained it, though, in favor of staying out of what promised to be a heated debate on dragon-taming as a career. He'd almost gotten into one with Jackson, another of the maundering wastrels that trekked the dragon reserve hills.

"That's true." And then, with a sudden blink of ingenuity. "Come to think of it, he got that car out of the forbidden forest, right? Did he ever get around to fixing it?"

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.

.

This most certainly was _not _the car that he and Ron had crashed head straight into the Whomping Willow. It wasn't anywhere near 'powder blue', nor was the bumper quite so hinged on. And, on the matter of the car's outlook, it never had seemed so _sleek, _either. Harry blinked at his memory. Perhaps he'd gotten it wrong.

"Nope, that's the one." Ron insisted. "It's been sitting in the workshop ever since me n' Bill had to go drag it out of the forest—go figure. Honestly, it _belongs _in this hovel of muggle junk." Ron sat on a desk not too far away, tinkering with what seemed to be a toaster oven. "And, blimey mate, what are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself. Ron had obviously never encountered jeans, or plaid shirts, for that matter. He shrugged. "Everyone at my school wears it."

"On the subject of that," Ron began, pulling his finger out of the metal prongs in a way that made Harry wince with safety issues. "Remind me why you're going to school again?"

"I wanted to learn something."

"About muggle history? Pretty sure we had a class for that, mate."

No, not really about any of the muggles' mundane wars. About himself. Though, he was just about as close to figuring that one out as he was to finding the cause of World War I.

"Nah, just… about things in general."

Ron, who had hated every moment of school as fervently as a camel would hate the rain forest, only blinked slowly, before cutting his finger. "Ah—ouch! Merlin, this thing is a death trap. Even _Hermione _thinks all this is junk. Is it, Harry?"

"Mostly, yeah." He looked at the enormous plastic statue of an elephant. He probably couldn't have found that in the muggle world if he _tried. _"This car, though. You're sure it was the same one?"

"Course." Said Ron without thinking, and then, once he got around to actually using his brain, "Oh, wait a moment…"

Harry gave an exasperated harrumph.

"No, that's right! It was so busted, and well, angry—

"Cars can have temperaments?" Harry interrupted, perplexed.

"Well sure, when they're charmed like that. So we had to blow it up. Then Dad looked up this elaborate spell that was supposed to update the old Ford to a later model." Ron waved towards the car, which looked odd, though not exactly remiss, with all the junk in the storage. "And then we get this thing! Course, it's too new for any of us to really understand. Got all these buttons that do funky things."

Harry blinked at it. "Do you have the keys?"

"The whu—?"

"Keys," He began with patience. "Do you have the keys?"

"These things?" He held up a ratty pair of rusted house keys.

Harry grimaced. "No of course not—

"Well blood hell mate, what other kinds of keys are there?"

He didn't bother explaining, walking over to the drivers seat and wrenching the sleek black door open and examining the absurdly nice interior. He found it one of the compartments, though the car moved dangerously as he snagged them out of the glove box. Quite keen on not being on the wrong end of a bitchy car, he leapt out to give Ron a haggard look. "This one doesn't have a bad temperament, does it?"

Ron, who couldn't tell the difference between a key from 1874 and a car key, gave him a dubious deadpan. "Of course not." He snorted like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't you know anything?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

He examined it once more. Harry never cared particularly about cars, or muggle transportation in general, side from trains, so the thing looked like another car to him. Granted, it was certainly better then the sputtering contraption of death that the twins had hauled him out of the Dursley's with. And much, much better then what it had looked after it had crawled away into the forbidden forest, to a fate which Harry assumed meant a simple life grazing on grass, or whatever cars ate.

Quite frankly, he was just happy to have a car.

"And your dad won't mind if I take this?" Harry asked disbelievingly. It certainly looked nice.

"Why wouldn't he?" Ron began to peruse around the assortment of drum sets. "It's not like any of us know how to use it, Harry. And Hermione, well, Hermione claims it's much too dangerous to be driving around. But this is coming from the girl who believes broomsticks are dangerous. And honestly, who could possibly think of that?"

Harry would have, but he didn't dare say it aloud. Just the thought of Quidditch getting banned over something so mundane as safety issues made him shiver.

"Well, alright." He sighed, shrinking it with a wave of his wand, until it fit into his pocket. He turned to Ron, who seemed to have, once more, fatally injured himself on child-proofed muggle equipment. This one looked like a stereo. "And Ginny?" He asked quietly, as Ron cussed up a storm.

The redhead paused, going rigid.

Harry wondered if perhaps he'd struck a sore spot. Was Ron mad at him, for dumping her? Though it was mutual, mostly. The thought of the Weasley's ever being mad at him made his stomach churn and regret the day he even thought about being romantically involved with one of them. They were his _family. _He couldn't lose them.

"Ah, she's fine, I guess." He answered stiffly.

Harry sighed. "I'm really, really sorry about all this Ron—

"Sorry?" The redhead blinked in confusion. "Why should _you _be sorry? Harry, you've done nothing wrong. You can't blame yourself for Ginny's actions."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Her actions?" Sure, she was a bit shallow at times, but she'd never done anything particularly horrible. What was Ron talking about?

He backtracked quickly. "Err—well ,what I meant to say was; no one's upset with you, Harry. It happens. If anything ever happened to Fleur and Bill no one would ever unwelcome her to our home—and for god's sake, we don't even really know her! Definitely not like we know you, Harry."

The comfort did assuage his fears.

"You're sure?"

"Positive." Ron agreed.

.

.

.

He'd been wrong about the car being very good.

It was downright a work of art.

So said Mike, anyway, who spent an entire twenty minutes gaping at it with Eric until the late bell rang and he and Harry had to scramble into their first period—Literature, before the wizened teacher who reminded him disturbingly of Professor Binns turned around from his before-class monologue to notice. And, once they sat down, he continued to ramble on about it's beauty for the majority of the class, until eventually he got too tired and just fell asleep. Harry had accidentally called it a Ford Anglia, it's _actual _name, and Mike had gaped at him like someone had just moved down his dog with a tractor (he'd made the same face when Harry had asked who won the superbowl this year). Apparently, the updated version would be a Ford _Mustang. _Though to be fair to Harry, it bore no resemblance, and seemed to not even be in the same class of cars as the rickety beat up car had been.

Through it all, Harry sat studiously through most of the surprising enthusiasm with astute bravery. He hadn't the slightest idea how the male muggle brain worked. It seemed to revolve around the subject of sports, cars, and women. And while his certainly had much to do with sports, he couldn't say much for the other two. Perhaps broomsticks could count as some warped form of transportation, but he was quite done with women for the time being. Not with the majority of them, and Witch Weekly editors, fawning over him.

By second period, it seemed the majority of the school was aware of the new car parked in its lot. Luckily, they all seemed just as stumped at the identity of the owner as they did of their SGA president, a girl which Jessica never seemed to let him forget, seeing as though it was her.

"_And _as SGA president," She waggled the title around in conversation once more, with enough berth to allow some of the students to hear her. "It's my duty to have a complete tour of its facilities. In order to… expect its school safety, of course." She added hastily.

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you want a ride, there's a much easier way of going about it."

"Correction!" Shouted Tyler Crowley down the hall. "Jess' has gotta wait in line!"

Next to him, Eric made a whooping sound and slammed a couple of lockers for good measure, effectively sending the majority of the hallway into stunned shock. Harry only bore the front with a brunt of incredible patience.

"Sorry babe," Mike came over and near molested him as he gave Harry an enthusiastic back hug. "But I'm first."

"Why wasn't I informed of this line?" Harry asked testily, wondering where on earth he'd acquired so many friends. Last he recalled, he'd only introduced himself to Jessica. She managed to rope her entire group of friends to him, somehow.

"Oh, you'd figure it out eventually." Mike waved his hand flippantly, deattaching his barnacle-like grip on Harry as he waltzed down the hallway. "It's gym time bitches! My favorite time of the day!"

Ah, there was the phenomenon striking again, this elusive, _gym. _If they were running any more miles, Harry would pass.

From the looks of it, Eric would too.

The two headed off in the opposite direction, insisting they just wanted another look at his car, and were taking the long way around. Harry only sighed. He wouldn't have snatched it off of Mr. Weasley's ready hands had he known it would be such a nuisance.

"Don't mind them." Said Jessica good naturedly. "There aren't many nice cars for them to cream their pants at around here."

Harry's brows raised. "Really? I was sure I saw a couple of nice ones…"

"The Cullen's ones, you mean." Jessica nodded. "Yeah, they've got some nice cars too. But they're certainly not as, well, amiable as you are."

"Really?" Harry cocked his head. He thought of Emmett. The guy was pretty cool. Certainly not a bully like Malfoy, which was sort of the vibe he was getting about the guy from Jessica.

"They keep to themselves, mostly." Well, that was pretty true.

"Well, anyway!" She began anew, chirpily, stopping so abruptly that he nearly ran into her, before she ducked into a paltry looking class of a few depressing looking souls and a typical FHS rickety fan. "This is my class. I'll catch up to you later, yeah?"

"Sure!" He waved, entirely blindsided when he ran into a wall.

Damn, what was that about the walls being made of plaster? This shit was straight up concrete—"Emmett?"

"Hey!" The senior backed away as if Harry was smallpox, making a quick movement Harry couldn't even catch until there was about a foot between them. Huh… maybe the human contact allergen ran in the family. "H—Harry!"

Goodness, was this Emmett nervous? He'd never seen the guy anything other then, well, the most apt description would be lazy and composed. Right now though, he looked almost a bit tense.

"Sorry about that." Harry apologized quickly, looking at the three kids watching them.

Oh, that explains it. Wasn't that Emmett's girlfriend/adopted sister? He was probably interrupting something important. He'd have found that whole relationship weirder, had he not done the same. The Weasley's were practically his adopted family, and he _had _dated Ginny. The two of them were no way more incestuous then Emmett was. She was the lean blonde, giving him a bit of a cold surveying stare. The other, Jasper if he recalled, looked more rigid then usual, as if he'd just smelt something vile, or perhaps just had accidental human contact. A germaphobe, perhaps?

It was the last guy that really unnerved Harry, though.

He wouldn't stop _staring. _

"Nah, you're good man." Emmett gave a quick, almost imperceptible glance to his stone-like staring brother. "You going to class?"

"Yeah." And then, pointedly. "You probably should too, you'll be late—like usual."

"It's fashionable, you know?" Emmett waggled his eyebrows.

Harry rolled his eyes, brushing past them with a vague wave. "You'd do me the favor and kill me and suck my blood if we run another timed mile right?"

He'd meant it as a joke, but the hallway of siblings became so silent and tense Harry could probably have cut it with a finger.

"Haha…" Emmett laughed weakly, looking a bit shaken. "Course. Should I just get it over with now before coach tells you we're running the two today?"

Harry could vomit, possibly. "You're kidding." He chanted to himself as he turned the corner. "Absolutely, bloody kidding…"

But truthfully, he was just glad to be out of there. Looked like he'd stepped on a landmine on that one.

Meanwhile, Embry was having the same issue.

"A _dragon_?"

"You think I'm shitting you." Jake harrumphed. Didn't take a mind reader to know they all did. "But I swear to god I'm not. You smelt it in the air, right? That snake-ish smell, except ten times worse?"

"Sort of." Paul made a half shrug. "It could've just been the salt."

Jake made a noise of frustration. "I'm NOT kidding! It was a dragon! I saw it! Right behind him—think about it! If there's werewolves and vampires why the hell wouldn't we have the whole Disney crew? Singing dwarves and trolls and elves and all that shit."

"I think you're taking this a little too far." Embry began slowly, turning to Sam, who was lounging on the opposite side of the black living room. "Does imprinting make you're brain haywire?"

"It's not haywire!" Jake interrupted, though no one seemed to care.

Sam smirked. "No, but Jake has always been a bit of a lovesick puppy. Who knows with him."

"Wolf, jackass." The Quileute amended with heat. "And I'd prefer the term, 'interested'. Lovesick makes me sound—

"Obsessive?" Quil cut off with a snicker.

Jake gave him a withering look.

"Well," Sam scratched his head. "What you're saying may or may not be true. We all smelt something on that cliff, though that could have just been a strange wind on the ocean. Or the boy—what was his name? He has quite a unique scent too."

"Not like reptilian though!" Jake pointed out.

"Regardless." Sam shrugged.

"Regardless," Embry rationalized. "There's no point in arguing this. We should all be a bit relieved here—'specially you Jake. You found your imprint! And he's not in some freak show band or a travelling circus or whatever dumb idea you had in your head. He goes to school here!"

"And plays lacrosse." Quil agreed with approval, though none of them were aware that that certain fact had been made up on the spot.

"And goes to school here!" Embry emphasized.

Jake sighed. "You guys are right." He agreed , although he'd prefer if they believed all of it. "But what should I do now?"

"What do people normally do?" Paul snorted. "Date'em. Duh."

"That's not as easier said then done." Jacob flushed, grip tightening on the couch arm. "I mean—I barely know the guy. And I'm sure I haven't exactly made the best impression."

And that was only _too _true.

Embry hummed. "We'll have to rectify that somehow then, huh?"

"And you have any brilliant ideas then?" Jake snarled in response. As if he hadn't been coming up with that since they came home. Most of them ended up with Harry either being completely appalled or completely bewildered. None of which were seeming like the best option.

"Go to Forks High School!" Said Quil, and Jake's eyes bulged in his direction, as did everyone else's. "What?" Asked Quil, confused. "Why not?"

"The Cullens, for one-" The Quileute began, before his eyes widened. "Oh _shit _the Cullens! I completely forgot all about them! They go to Forks... and so does..." Jake swallowed thickly.

"Bella." Embry finished for him.

If possible, Jacob Black's disturbingly unrealistic day just got even worse.

* * *

_Christ what a fast update! I adore, ADORE both "imprinted" hpxjb stories. I call them that because they're both titled the same. I'm so upset they haven't been updated in nearly a year :( this is a fast paced fandom so I was hoping they would be, but, well, I ended up just making my own instead. you'll notice quite a few similarities, most notably the laundromat. _


	5. Swimming in the Flood

_one of my favorite passion pit songs of all time! I thought it fit very well with this chapter-the ending of it, at least._

* * *

**Make Light**

!

_Chapter Five: Swimming in the Flood_

He _had _to do something.

He couldn't just sit around in this school and fade into obscurity, and though it was hard, he was going to have to grow up.

Harry had come to this conclusion somewhere around the half way mark in the two mile run Coach had surprised them with earlier that day. While the rest of the class wheezed behind him, Harry had a pensive face as he jogged around the circle, surprising himself with some physically-induced deep thought.

Maybe Ginny was right—maybe he hadn't grown up. He tried to remember a time when he had thought about his future. Ron always had some half-whittled dream about being an Auror, now coming to fruition. Hermione, well, Harry wasn't sure there was a time when she _wasn't _fretting over her future. Ginny's biggest plan was owning a big house with a garden, Charlie had his dragons, Neville his plants, and hell, even _Malfoy _seemed to be steering himself back onto the right track. And what of him? His best talent, slaying dark lords, was no longer needed. He couldn't remember thinking past a few months, there always seemed to be _something _grasping his attention just a few weeks away that encompassed the entirety of his thoughts—dreading summer, dreading Snape, the dark lord, _horcruxes. _This deceptive never ending cycle that one day collapsed into itself.

And now he had the wide, inevitable _future _to think about.

What a word.

He slowed as he realized he was leading the pack, and breathing heavily. Mike's labored breathing was somewhere in the vicinity of his back left, and the soft, near mechanical pelting of Emmett's shoes was to his right.

"Sorry I didn't… bite your neck." Said Emmett cockily, as he rounded up near Harry. Harry gave him a quick side glance. It was typical Emmett, all cocky and full of himself… but there was something to his voice. Like he'd swallowed a lemon.

Harry gave him a slight smile. "No, it's aright. Figure it'd be a bit more painful to you know… die by blood loss."

Emmett gave a shaky laugh.

Maybe blood was a sore point for him?

Harry gave a glance back at Jasper, still somehow only six feet behind them, who looked a bit green.

Perhaps it was time for a change of subject. "So, I was wondering how you get a parking pass? I just got a car… but earlier this morning one of my friends told me you can't park in the school lot without a pass."

"That would be correct." Emmett agreed with a smirk, looking delighted at the tactful subject change. "You're talking to the right guy."

"Am I?" Harry laughed.

"Yes sir! I'm the best mechanic in this goddamn shit town. I know everything about cars—even parking passes." At this, Jasper made an exasperated noise, as if he heard this all the time. "You gotta ask the main office. It doesn't really matter, though. No one will actually ticket you around here."

"Good to know."

"Just got a car, huh?" This seemed to be much better territory with the senior, who looked as if Harry had quite accidentally stumbled upon his favorite subject. "Is it the GT?"

Harry blinked. "The…?"

"The Mustang GT. Saw it in the lot this morning." Emmett gave him a quizzical look, before chuckling. "Don't tell me you don't even know your own car."

"I don't." Harry answered honestly as they made for the final lap. Emmett guffawed.

"How's that possible?"

"Well…" Harry paused thoughtfully. "Me and a friend of mine borrowed this car once in our second year—I mean, when we were twelve—and it was called a Ford Anglia at the time. We crashed it pretty bad, and then I guess his Dad got a new one, and didn't want it anymore so—

"Whoa, whoa, back this truck up." Emmett interrupted. "You _drove _when you were twelve?"

Was Harry supposed to tell him that yes, he did drive, and also, the car was flying? He decided not to. "Err—yeah?" He answered hesitantly.

Emmett whooped. "You're such a bad ass!" He laughed, before continuing. "And what do you mean, didn't want it anymore? That's the latest model—V8 engine, right?"

V what?

"Uh, I suppose so, yeah."

"How could anyone not want that? Do you have any idea how much horse power that thing has?" Emmett cried aloud, seeming to have worked himself up into a frenzy.

Harry gave a quick, confused glance to Jasper, still six feet behind them. The curly haired boy only shrugged. "Don't bother with him." Said Emmett's brother, the most conversational Harry had ever heard him. "He gets like this sometimes."

"—over four hundred! God didn't _make _cars to go that fast!" Emmett continued like he hadn't heard them.

The three of them, plus Mike, who was beyond speaking, slowed down at the finish line. Personally, Harry didn't see how a car could be very interesting. He kept an open mind though, because he was aware how strange it looked when he and Ron collapsed into debates over the latest broom models, and he supposed this may as well be the muggle equivalent.

Though if he had thought that car would be this much trouble, he certainly wouldn't have taken it off of Ron's ready hands.

"Though don't get me wrong—me and the old Wrangler could take you on any day."

"You probably could." Harry nodded. "I can hardly drive stick shift."

Emmett looked at him, flabbergasted.

"You, my friend, are a disappointment to all car owners out there."

"Quite sorry." He wasn't.

"Honestly—Edward too. His 260R has needed an oil change for the past two weeks—_two weeks. _Not to mention the Vanquisher. It's got a V8, you know—you can't just put regular fuel in that baby. Why have two when you can't take care of one? I don't understand him."

"I don't either." Agreed Harry empathetically, and meant it. Edward was the weird one who didn't blink. Even Jasper wasn't that bad, though he didn't talk much.

"Between you and me, though," And here Harry supposed Emmett had to be as thick as a rock, for clearly he and Jasper cared little for this subject, yet he continued onwards as if he hadn't a clue. "I like your GT better then any of his cars. Even Rose has this souped up M3. Sure, its nice and all but it has a V8 engine and less horsepower then yours. That's just plain wasteful, right there."

Harry blinked at him.

Jasper rolled his eyes. "Enough already, honestly. Clearly he doesn't care."

"As a new car owner, he needs to know this stuff!" Emmett disagreed.

Harry had thought his day had started out rather well. Everyone was overly friendly to him, but that most likely had more to do with his car then any sort of life changing revelation he'd had that they subconsciously picked up on. He came to find he almost enjoyed Jessica and Lauren's company. They were loud yes, aggravatingly so, but there was some sort of naïve quality to them, like courageous, if not mulish Gryffindors. He watched them at lunch, fighting over something trivial with Mike, and wondered if this is what all the other houses felt like when watching Gryffindors.

"And anyway, I've got first dibs today, right Harry?" Mike's face practically glowed. "We should stop by Sonic and grab milkshakes—just to piss Jessica off."

"I _love _those!" She scowled at him. "Now you're just being a dick purposefully."

Their table descended into more eruptions of laughter and indignant shouts, but Harry felt the icy heat trickle down the back of his neck, as if someone was watching him. The lunch room was full of its regular inhabitants, and no one seemed to be staring obtrusively at him.

Aside from…

Harry blanched, and turned away.

Emmett's brother sort of scared him, in a way. Whenever he was staring, at any rate. (which was almost all the time) It reminded him of stepping into Quirrell's office, back when the other side of Quirrell's head was Voldemort. But why? Because he was staring? That couldn't be it.

Classes were a tad boring, aside from World History, which seemed to have a bit more of a profound impact then he had first thought it would. While there was no magical information in the class, it was almost surreal to hear of magical civilizations he'd heard while sleeping in History of Magic class, mentioned here as muggle civilizations. To think, that when studying that far in the past muggles and wizards had the same history. Suffice to say, he had used his magical history class as nap time. Yet somehow, this made his muggle history all the more fascinating.

The day most likely would have continued to wind down in a most pleasant fashion, had it not been fore the end of the school day.

The worst part was, it had the potential to have been quite a good one.

Jess had latched herself to his arm like a giant sarlaac, hissing every so often at Mike, who protested that he had first ride. Harry paid them little mind, though was surprised to see the Emmett loafing near his jeep—ah, so that was what a Wrangler was—almost as if he was waiting for him. Harry hadn't realized he had parked right across from the senior, and realized he was probably in for quite a teasing for his horrendous parking job.

He probably would have greeted his friend, had it not been for the rest of his amassed siblings watching him with those strange, almost possessed eyes they all seemed to have.

"Harry!" Emmett greeted, with his usual arrogant, though oddly friendly cheer.

Harry smiled a bit. "So, this is the 'old Wrangler', then?"

Emmett grinned, looking pleased Harry remembered their earlier conversation. He patted it fondly. "This is my girl. A beaut, isn't she?"

Harry gave him an exasperated look. "Oh, it has a gender now too?"

"And a name!" Emmett added. "Delilah. Lovely, right?"

"Quite." He said with amusement. It quickly ebbed away into unease, as he realized that all of the gathered siblings were still watching him. Except Jasper, who seemed to be pointedly moved away from human contact. Harry found this almost relieving. At least he was used to Jasper, Emmett's brother who was allergic to all human contact.

"Oh! You guys haven't been introduced, right?" Emmett laughed. "This is my girl, Rose."

"Rosalie." She sniped back. Harry wondered if she was always this cold, or if he'd caught her at the wrong time.

"Don't you mean, other girl?" Harry's grin widened as Emmett chuckled weakly, and Rosalie gave her boyfriend a narrow eyed glare.

"If he knows what's good for him," Rosalie glowered. "He'll be sure to stop calling it that."

"And that's Alice." Alice gave him a delighted little wave, her smile wide.

"You've already met Jasper." The boy only inclined his head slightly. "And that's Edward over there."

Ah, so that was his name. It suited him, somehow.

Edward made no move to speak either. In fact, he looked as if he had just frozen into solid ice.

Unsure of what else to do, Harry didn't give much of a fight as Jessica, who finally let go of her iron vice like grip on his arm, wriggled the keys out of his back pocket, molesting him in the process, and unlocked the car and made a dive for the passenger seat. Mike blocked her, though, and the two proceeded for a tussle behind him. Harry, and Emmett and his siblings paid them no mind though.

Emmett looked like he was going to say something, but then he just closed his mouth and gave a helpless look to his blonde sister. His 'sister' glared back.

"Oh!" Alice jumped to the front, then, a beaming little grin on her face. "Well, we actually wanted to ask you a question."

Harry blinked. "Uh, sure… alright."

Jessica gave a cry as she grabbed the keys, only to scream in shock as Mike swatted them out of her hands, landing some feet away from them near the side of Harry's car.

Alice brushed back some of her hair. "Would you want to join us for dinner ton—

"It's _mine_!"

And then, Tyler Crowley leapt over them all from his spot on top of his van, making for the now opened front seat. He snatched the keys from the ground in front of the now bewildered group. Jessica howled as he wrenched the door open, and then slammed it shut, locking it with the keys inside.

"Tyler you _cunt_! Give those back!"

"Yeah Tyler, you fucking pussy!" Mike called from the ground, as Jessica leapt to bat furiously at the window. Tyler gave her the finger.

And this, _not even this, _crazy span of five minutes could have possibly shot his day to hell as the next few moments had. Jessica and her posse of morons he was fondly annoyed by fighting over his car for the past seven hours, not the two mile run coach surprised him with, nor Emmett and his freaky staring brother Edward could have possibly made a marginal accumulation to seeing Ginny walking out of the school building.

She was wearing muggle clothes, the red plaid of her button down oddly complimenting the fiery color of her hair, which picked up with the wind like sort of giant orange fire. Well, mostly muggle clothes. The boots her jeans were tucked into were dragonhide.

"Ginny…"

From the ground, Mike's mouth dropped open. He turned to Harry, and then back to Ginny, and then back to Harry, uncomprehending.

"Harry is that your girlfriend?" He shrieked, girlishly. "She's a total _babe_!"

Emmett must have agreed on the sentiment, because Rosalie kicked his shin, _hard, _and he finally turned back to look at her sheepishly.

Jessica had finally stopped trying to pick the lock, and Tyler actually opened the car door to peer over the crowd to see what everyone was staring at. He whistled low, while Jessica crowed, "Mike you slut! You're not supposed to say that about anyone but me!"

Tyler guffawed.

"But look at that ass!" Mike protested, before looking up at the shell shocked Harry. "_Please _tell me you've hit that. For the sake of allmen, _please._"

Harry didn't even know what to say.

She came up to them, almost eerily quite aside from the patter of her boots. Rosalie was staring at them as if she wanted to eat them, as did Alice. Harry would never understand women and their fascination with shoes.

"Harry." She breathed, an exhausted look to her face.

"Ginny." He greeted, cordial at best. What was she doing here? Did Charlie tell her where he was? Oh Merlin.

"Hi." She must've just realized what a predicament he was in, and gave a long, confused sweep to all the people assembled. Tyler and Jessica crawled slash scampered away from the car, standing next to Harry and looking almost a bit sheepish. Mike got up from the ground, shaking out his asphalt hair and waltzing up to her with a charming grin.

"I'm Mike Newton, pleased to make your acquaintance."

He held out his hand, and Ginny took it gingerly, looking bewildered. "Oh, uh, lovely to meet you as well."

"Another Brit!" Mike brightened. "I don't think I've ever heard an accent so beautiful!"

Ginny's brows creased in confusion.

"Don't mind him!" Jess said with an exaggerated smile, coming up to her wayward boyfriend. "He's just a pig." She tugged Mike away from the ear, although not without giving Ginny one last stare, as if awed by her maturity.

In fact, Harry was a bit in awe of it too. Ginny hadn't always had this strange, almost pensive look to her. Generally, her face was stuck in the clouds. A long time ago, Harry would have been a bit more struck by her beauty, a bit more surprised and perhaps a bit more gullible. Coming all this way to see him would have been a big deal back then.

Now, he just stared at the freckles dotting her nose, the caramel brown of her eyes and the curved lines of her mouth and took them all in at face value—here is Ginny. That was all there was to it.

"Err—," she gave a quick look around her, "Could you guys…"

"Right. Right!" Emmett seemed to shake himself out of his shocked daze. "C'mon guys… lets…" He didn't finish his sentence, ushering in the rest of his struck mute family into his car. He did spare Harry one last look, which Harry had assumed would be some sort of jockish smirk as if to say, 'congrats man, she's a banger' or whatever else Mike would have said. Instead, he had a thoughtful, almost saddened coloration to his face.

Harry didn't know what to make of it.

So he didn't at all.

"Shall we go someplace more quite?" He didn't quite look at her, though saw her hair move with her nod.

He must have messed up one of the buttons, because instead of just unlocking the entire top came off, the metal gleaming in the sunlight as it was somehow swallowed into his meager trunk.

Ginny blinked as she got in the car.

"Oh. Er. Hold on you've got to," He made a motion. She blinked at him like the witch she was. "The… uh… seatbelt…"

"The what?"

He decided to just lean over and do it for her.

"Oh." She said. "I've never road in a car before." And then, quickly she added, "It's nice."

Harry checked his rear mirror as he backed out of his spot. "It's your dad's."

.

.

.

"I was talking to Emily this morning." Was how Embry started the conversation.

Jake rolled his eyes. "You always are."

"No—I mean. Really talking. I was helping her with groceries and she had some interesting information."

"Yeah?" This time, Jake wasn't actually feigning disinterest. He _was _disinterested. Embry was such a girl like that, always helping with cooking and doing all this girly stuff. The guy had good intentions and all, but still.

"About Harry."

At this, Jake near leapt up, and ended up hitting the side of his head on the side of his bike. "_Ouch—_fuck!"

Embry stood above him, amused. "Well, that woke you up."

"Couldn't you have just said that in the first place?" Jake grumbled, rubbing his hair as if it would alleviate the pain.

"Why? When it's so easy to make you jump?" Embry smiled. "I could get used to this."

"Alright, just shut up." The imprintee said crossly. "What about him?"

"Well, she was saying how she's made good friends with a rather nice fellow at the grocery store a lot. His names Whethersprout, or something. Apparently half of his eyebrows are singed off or something. But anyway, they're sort of like shopping buddies. Emily says he's told her before that he lives up in that big cottage—the one up near Lake Pleasant—but get this, with three other guys. One of them has red hair, his name's Charlie. And the other one is this little guy who goes to school in Forks."

Embry grinned at Jake's delighted face. "Sound familiar?"

"Y—You're kidding!" Jake leapt up, almost unable to believe his luck.

"Absolutely not." Embry laughed. "Anyway, she was saying how they had been talking, and she'd promised him some of her homemade tomatoes—he's a bit of a locavore—but you know, we shouldn't have a sweet girl like Emily having to go so out of her way all alone… right?"

Jake smiled.

"I like your way of thinking, Embry."

.

.

.

"So."

Harry stirred his tea. "So."

Ginny looked around the house. Harry thought he'd find a bit of cynicism in her gaze, though there was nothing but an impassive sheen to her brown eyes. "It's a nice place."

"A bit too big." Though he nodded anyway. "But I suppose that's to be expected. Apparently there are more tamers come summer."

"That so?" She sipped her Chai. Harry had made himself an Earl Grey, and had given her Chai out of habit, he supposed. Back at their house, he'd always made their tea this way. It was almost strange how easily old habits came back.

"Uh—yeah. Sorry Charlie's not in… he probably went out to the range—

"It's perfectly fine." Was it supposed to be this awkward? Because it was. To the point Harry would have preferred to shoot himself in the foot then sit here with the girl.

"Listen, Harry." She began suddenly, looking as if she'd long forgotten her tea. "I… I know we most likely don't want anything to do with each other, and I respect that, I honestly do…"

Harry almost collapsed bonelessly in relief. Thank god this wasn't a back together talk.

"But I…"

And then he sprang right back up into a tense bundle of nerves. _Oh merlin she's crying. _Harry hated crying women. What was he supposed to do? Charmingly scoot next to her and lend a shoulder? Even with Hermione he had just sort of sat there, like a limp log.

"I've really made a mess of things." She decided upon, wiping furiously at her eyes. Fortunately for Ginny, she always made crying look slightly beautiful. Harry hadn't the slightest idea what he'd do with an ugly crying girl.

"Oh, Ginny… Just because I don't like you like that doesn't mean I hate you…" Though he generally was annoyed with her every minute of the day. He decided to leave that out, however.

If anything, she started to sob harder. "I don't _want _you to h—hate me! Ron and the others, they think I'm getting married to Malfoy to spite you, or, or something but _its not true_! Honest, I'd never do something like that to you and I just—

"Wh—hold on." Harry blinked. Rapidly. "_Marrying _Malfoy?"

Ginny sniffled, lifting a delicate finger to the bottom of her eyes to erase the rapid flow of tears.

"I mean, it's a shock of course." Harry reeled, leaning back. "But… It can't be all that bad."

Oh hell.

Who was he kidding?

Just because they had come to some sort of agreement during the war didn't mean he thought the guy was marriage material, or anything.

"I know you want nothing to do with me." She whispered, wringing her plaid shirt in her wet hands. "I just—I've got no one else to tell, you see. I don't want it getting around and I feel like my family is just _so disappointed—_

"I'm sure that's not true." He interrupted half-heartedly.

"And they all think I'm just some kind of vengeful bint but I _swear _its not true, regardless of what everyone's saying. I just… just made a mistake is all."

"If it's a mistake then don't marry him." Harry answered dazedly.

"It's not that simple!" Ginny wailed. "I'm pregnant!"

The color drained out of his face, as she seemed shocked as well at her announcement, or perhaps just at the decibel of her voice, and promptly fell into herself, propped up by one bone-thin arm—Merlin, was she thin. Ginny had this way of masking herself into some beautiful little creature, completely shelling out everything which was _wrong _with her. It was one of the things he hated to love about her. He'd have never noticed had he not spent the better part of last year attempting to look through all the cracks for what she'd dropped of herself.

"Is it…" He swallowed thickly. "Mine?"

Ginny looked up at him sharply. "Oh… _oh…_" She said, as if she'd come to some sort of revelation. "No." She smiled a little thinly. "Don't get so worried. It's his."

Perhaps her idea of moving on was fraternizing with ex-death eaters? The youngest one, in fact. Though Harry felt bad. They had a passive way of egging each other on, and that had certainly been the definition of their last conversation. He wouldn't hold himself to Ginny's actions, but she'd really gotten herself in a bit of a mess this time and he couldn't help but feel it might have been a little bit of his fault.

"Well have you," He broke off awkwardly. "Well, you know. Come to a decision?"

"On what?" She gasped. "On the baby?" The redhead paused, a look of shame crossing her freckled features. "I—I _had _thought about it."

She gave a vague wave of her hand, laughing brokenly. "I mean, no one would be happy to hear it. Least of all _his parents. _Good Merlin you should have seen them when he announced his intention to marry me. I was so sure his mother had popped her eye clean out of her socket it was twitching so much. They hate us, Harry." Her voice dropped low. "And we hate them. To be honest, I think my family was so caught up thinking that it would be _you _that everyone else, even if it wasn't Draco… would be second best. And _he _was engaged…" She laughed shrilly. "To that girl—Astoria Greengrass. I have no idea what's happening with _that_."

Harry took it in numbly.

"And it's not like anyone knows. About the baby, I mean. Well aside from you, I suppose. I haven't even told Draco—in… in case he changes his mind, you know? Don't want him hanging around because he's feeling obliged to."

"And, and about Draco…" It had always been Malfoy, to him, even in his head. Even when they shook hands, admirably civil, their brief connection from the war bringing them away from enemies but not quite friends. It was strange to refer to him like this now. "Do you… fancy him?"

He could have worded it a bit better. But to be honest, he'd prefer _not _to know if Ginny loved him. Love was a long winding process they'd never met together, and he could only imagine how long it would have taken to stir in Ginny.

"I… I dunno." She seemed so honestly puzzled, Harry wanted to laugh.

"I think maybe you should figure that out first." Harry advised slowly. "Marriage is a really big commitment. Talk it over with Mal—Draco." Knowing Malfoy, he knew what to do as much as Ginny did, which is to say not at all.

Ginny was nodding. "Yeah, yeah you're right."

"Ginny…" He said softly, wondering what happened to her. Hell, what happened to _everyone? _When did Ron become responsible? Hermione, professional? He couldn't even recall the last he'd seen of her, she was so caught up in her job as an advocate for magical creature rights in the ministry. Even Neville had grown up extraordinarily, right up from under his nose.

Everyone seemed to be going in the right direction—but him.

"Please—I already know." She sniffed. "This is all my fault."

She made a move to get up. "I… I should just really get going…"

"No." He caught her hand so quickly it took a couple moments for his brain to catch up. "No, Gin…" The nickname slipped so easily from his tongue. "Really. I'm glad you told me; told someone. You shouldn't keep things like this to yourself."

She wore a dazed expression, blinking at him in undeniable surprise that almost made him burn in shame. Like she'd never seen him face his problems so maturely. The biggest problem of his life had a detailed prophecy depicting how to go about solving it, so perhaps he just didn't have the practice.

"If you ever need anything, seriously, I want you to come to me first." He said, sincerely, surprising even himself.

"Oh... Okay." Ginny's hand drifted back to her side as he let it go, though her face hadn't lost it's almost bewildered, if not touched, expression.

Perhaps they'd have continued this conversation positively, had they the time or the ability. Harry would never know, as the door seemed to keel over at the intense force banging on it from the other side. The brunette and redhead both started at the loud noise, effectively slicing through whatever moment they were having.

Harry sighed, wrenching the door open.

He expected to see Charlie, burnt but mostly in good spirits, or perhaps one of the other tamers that were coming back to pick up some gear.

Not a towering, tanned hulking teenage boy.

"…I'm sorry," Harry blinked up. "Were you looking for something?"

The larger boy, the one with the boyish face, seemed to have lost his words. His companion, of equal stature and skin color, gave him a roguish grin. "Yeah, we were looking for Wethersprout. Is he in?"

The boy with the seaweed colored eyes seemed uncomprehending for a moment, before he opened the door further to reveal the interior of the enormous house, seeming to look for his friend.

Jake felt his heart flop to the floor as the opening wood revealed a slight, fey looking woman with fiery orange hair. At first glance, he saw little else besides the eye catching ocher of her hair and the plaid of her shirt, but he near did a double take afterwards. She had a delicate, lovely face with a spray of freckles dotting her nose, an alarmingly breathtaking look about her.

His imprint—Harry—turned back to him, and whatever slight of attraction he may have felt for the girl disappeared at the very sight of those burning green eyes and flush lips, before boiling into a furious phase of jealousy.

The two shared a difficult look—and confirmed his suspicions.

They had something going on.

"Sorry, don't think so." If it wasn't the crippling blow, then it would be the accent to undo him completely.

"That's alright." Thank god for Embry, who seemed to take over as his vocal chords abandoned him . "We were just bringing over some… vegetables for him. We'll just be on our way…"

"Oh—" Harry seemed startled by the sudden twist in conversation, looking like he was completely unprepared for them to leave and almost blindsided at the thought of returning to his conversation with who Jake supposed was his girlfriend. "You could just wait for him… if you like. He shouldn't be too long. Gin—

"I'll just be on my way." The redhead interrupted softly, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. It could have been just a friendly, endearing touch, or it could have been something more, but either way Jake felt his stomach drop.

"Are you sure?" Harry called hesitantly.

The woman nodded, giving him a quirky, almost nonexistent smile. "I'll be alright, Harry. And…" With a brief, shy look. "Thanks for the offer."

She walked off then, towards the living room, and Harry lingered, watching her go.

Jake was, not for the first time in his life, very lost for words. His mind in fact, was developing a loss of function.

Harry turned back to him. "You're welcome to stay and wait." He did that little smile that made Jake's heart flutter.

Embry, sly devil he was, was quick to but in, "Oh, but I've really got to get going." He thrust the picnic basket of Emily's garden grown vegetables into Jake's limp arms. "Do you mind waiting alone Jake? I've got that really important—uh, family emergency to go to."

"Y—Yeah sure." Baffled, Jake watched the other boy leave with a suggestive wave, leaving the wolf and the wizard (though neither of them knew that) awkwardly in the foyer.

"Err—do you… want to come in?"

The shape shifter rubbed the back of his head. "Are you sure it's alright? Where did your… _friend_ go?"

Harry looked back to his living room, before waving vaguely. "She must've used the backdoor I suppose."

Hadn't corrected him; mustn't have been his girlfriend, then.

Jake couldn't quite believe his astounding luck. So that bombshell and Harry weren't going out after all. Or should he say, anymore. How was that possible? She was unnervingly beautiful, in an almost overlooked kind of way. He could sort of see why Harry would have gone after her in the first place. Hell, any boy would.

Though perhaps the girl wasn't exactly the more pressing issue.

Jake couldn't claim to know anything about Harry, really, honestly, nothing at all. Aside from the fact that this boy was his imprint. That, and he had a nice car. He was almost a bit jealous of her. No. He _was _jealous of her. This fey like creature with her tumbling bright carmine hair, who would inevitably know more about the boy then he may possibly ever will.

But he looked so… lost.

"Hey, are you alright?" He asked a little tentatively, wondering if it would be too forward if he placed a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder.

Harry felt his forehead, numb. His startlingly malachite eyes looked unfocused. "No…" He said, slowly. "I don't think I am."

Was this what it felt like? Growing up?

* * *

_I really love those reviews you get like a month after you've updated that are so heartfelt and really inspire you to write more. I got one of those, haha, and tonight I was just like, "imma just crank that shit up"... so I did. Thank you faithful reviewer, thankyou. everyone review yayyyy..._


	6. The Reeling

_So now with the aggravating, movie-made ending to the Death Hallows, everyone who hasn't read the books is probably going to yell at me and be like, "but he broke the wand!" etc etc in the original ending, harry dropped the stone in the forest, put the wand back in dumbledore's grave, and kept the cloak for himself. there's a twist in my story. _

_oh, shoutout to poisonandsugar. for making me update, hahh. _

* * *

**make light **

**!**

_chapter six: The Reeling_

He turned back towards his imprint, studying him unobtrusively. It wasn't hard—the boy seemed more then just a bit preoccupied. Probably the only thing keeping him from throwing Jacob out of his house was his British hospitality. He was so lost in thought that if Jake transformed right there he doubted the boy would do much else but continue to stare.

The shape shifter swallowed, supposing that this was now or never to start a conversation.

"Are you okay?"

Possibly not the smartest thing to come out of his mouth.

If Harry noted the absolute moronic-ness of his words, he did nothing but tilt his lips. Jake was just pleased to get a smile out of the somber boy.

"I'm fine." Harry waved him off airily, seeming to shake himself out of his reverie. He beckoned Jake into the warm kitchen. "I've just been having a lot of interesting revelations today."

"I could use a couple of those." Jake chuckled, a bit nervously.

"Tea?" Typical Brit.

Jake nodded enthusiastically. "Please." He'd never cared for tea before. No time like the present though, right?

"You're probably better off without any." Harry continued on, reaching mindlessly for the tea packets in the cupboards—careful not to open the magical ones. "I… almost wish I'd never come to them at all."

"Well that can't be true." Jake had his fair share of startling conclusions in his life, most of them good, like shape shifting. One of them lead to Harry. Perhaps he was a bit biased.

"I suppose—" There was the shatter of glass, as one of the cups Harry had been taking out clattered, broken, on the counter. "Oh, bollocks."

The scent of blood hit his nose and he was bolted towards the boy, holding one of his fingers in a delicate grip, afraid if he held too hard he might break the bones of his hand right through.

"It's fine." Harry murmured, voice a soft puff of warmth on his chest. "Just a scratch."

"You're sure?"

Harry gave him a quizzical look, obviously not accustomed to such concern. Especially from someone he hardly even knew.

"It's not the scratch, at any rate." The brunette chuckled, looking away. Jake tried not to get completely sucked into those eyes, burning but unfocused, a poignant, arcane loneliness to them that the shifter almost wished he didn't see. "It's my head, you see," There was a brief look of pain, and a physical wince. "It's _killing _me."

There was a moment, a terrifying moment, in which Jake didn't comprehend at all. The only thing he could hear was that, it was _killing _him, and a primal knee jerk reaction made him visibly jerk at the very thought.

God what was _wrong _with him?

"Bad headache, huh?" The Quileute chuckled shakily.

"You've no idea." Harry sighed, rubbing at his head. "It hasn't stopped in days."

"Maybe you should get it checked out?"

"Probably."

Another silence, awkwardly heady in the air that Jake wished he could physically muscle himself through. Generally he was much more apt at breaking down trees and other large objects then he was at a polite conversation.

"Hey—" He paused, wondering how weird this would sound. "I haven't met you before, have I?"

Well of course he had, but the last thing he wanted was for Harry to find out he'd been _stalking _him.

Harry tilted his head. "I don't…" Large, green eyes blinked up at him. "Actually, maybe you have."

"Yeah, yeah." Jake agreed quickly. "No definitely. I think you were on the reservation once."

"Reservation?" The short brunette echoed, though the word seemed to be familiar to him. "Right, yeah. By the ocean, right?"

"That's the one." Jake nodded, happily.

"Oh yeah." Harry murmured. "I remember wondering what they fed you guys. Is it genetic?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Being so…" The boy gestured to his height, or perhaps his bulked size, Jake didn't know. "Big."

"Kind of." Jake laughed, cheeks burning in embarrassment. It wasn't as if Harry had insulted him, or for that matter, complimented, yet just knowing the boy even had an opinion on what he looked like made his cheeks burn.

"It's not a bad thing." His imprint smiled, crookedly, probably noticing his red hot face. Even with the tan it couldn't be hidden. "Tea?"

"Oh, uh, thanks." Jake was afraid he'd break the thin china, as he did with most delicate things, and carefully balanced it in the palm of his hand.

Harry motioned to a comfy looking breakfast nook, surrounded by bay windows that showed nothing but a cloudy sky. It seemed to find Harry perfectly, in fact, it probably would have fit anyone but him perfectly.

"How's school?"

"Awful." Jake answered immediately. And then, with a sheepish smile, "I'm not a fan of the whole 'reading' and math thing."

Harry raised his brows. "That reading and math is what's going to get you into college."

"College is so far away!" Jake protested. "Why start worrying about it now?"

"Is it?" Harry tilted his head, before, curiously. "How old are you?"

At the brunt of those glowing green eyes, Jake paled. "W—Well I turn seventeen in January."

Harry studied him closely, and Jake fidgeted at the end of his gaze. "Huh." Was all he said. "You don't look it."

"Yeah? Well, how—" He slammed his foot down on a fly, just to ease the tense embarrassment flushing through his system. "Old are you then?"

Harry smiled behind his cup. "I turn twenty in July."

Jake looked up then, mouth open. "What?"

"Is it really that surprising?" Harry titled his head. "I could've sworn you were my age."

"I'm just big for my age." Jake shrugged. In reality, his body was closer to twenty-four. But how old he was? Still, sadly, sixteen.

Damn.

_Damn._

Three years older. Jake didn't have any idea how he was supposed to get Harry to see him as anything else but that cute little kid who had a crush on him. If only he was actually twenty-four, maybe Harry would take him seriously.

Just to do something, Jake put the cup to his lips and took a big gulp, almost choking on it.

His imprint watched him curiously.

"Went down the wrong way." He croaked out. No, it just tasted like shit. Well, this was straight up British tea, definitely not that southern sweat tea shit McDonalds served for a dollar.

There was a faint buzzing noise.

"Huh." Jacob blinked. "I coulda swore it was dead."

Harry only sipped his tea.

The fly landed on the table, and Jake stilled, like a prowling hunter, one hand raising slowly. But Harry beat him to it, as the fly took to the air, placing a fingertip on it and then watching bemusedly as it flopped onto the ground, dead.

"Funny thing," Harry mused. "Death." There was a deep burning to his eyes, ephemeral and lingering on his, like those eyes could pull his soul right out and devour it.

Harry and death in the same thought seemed so wrong somehow, so wrongly _right. _

"Uh—yeah." Jake rubbed at his hair, suddenly feeling _much _to big in this small breakfast alcove. That wasn't to say he didn't always think he was too big for places, but it was different when you had a pact that all had the same issue. But Harry was so _small_.

The door rattled, and there was the sound of some sort of high pitched yelp.

"Oh, that must be Charlie and Wethersrpout," And then, "It seems they've dropped something again."

Harry set his tea down, rushing to help what seemed to be two companions in peril. Jake finally felt relaxed enough to stretch out his legs, not worrying about injuring the smaller boy. Harry was laughing in the other room, so whatever happened must have been amusing, and Jake was content to lounge in the alcove, pretending to sip this disgusting tea and—

A shimmer from the window caught his eye.

The landscape around here was gloomy, tall mountains and a surprisingly clear sky for Forks. And there it was. Jacob's mouth dropped open. That was it! That was the dragon! It was too far away to make out any of it's more defining features, but Jake was one hundred percent sure that it was the same creature. After all, how many giant lizards grew wings and flew into the sky.

Fuck you Embry, they were _so _real.

He was just about to whip out his phone when Harry and his companions re entered the room.

"So, you know Emily?" Boomed Whethersprout.

He wasn't anywhere near as tall, or big as Jake, but for a human he was pretty built. He didn't have any eyebrows, curiously, but he had a real character of a beard and wispy blonde hair. Jake couldn't see the rest of his features, as the majority of him was covered in dirt.

Jake nodded. "Yeah, we're great friends. She was saying something about bringing up some stuff from her garden, but it's a long drive up here so…"

He grabbed the basket full of Emily's… well, whatever they were, and Wethersprout's face lit up like Christmas had come early.

"Radishes?-!"

"Uh, anyway, it was great meeting you, Harry." Jake turned around, holding out his hand.

He wasn't prepared for the electric jolt of electricity that ran up through his arm.

Harry's bright bottle green eyes twinkled. "Formally, anyway."

Jake smiled. "Right."

.

.

.

The worst nights were nights he couldn't sleep through it.

That distant, almost imagined ringing silence—if only it was silence, perhaps he could console himself in that—lingering just beneath the flutter of his heart, connected to him inexplicably. He dropped it. He _swore _he'd dropped it. Left it in that forest to be eaten by a toad, or perhaps buried under the seasonal leaves.

Yet here it was, in his palm.

And the silence wouldn't stop. Couldn't, perhaps. How could it? Death was everything, everywhere, the faint buzzing in his ear and the hollow ringing that trailed after him. His very shadow was death.

_He _was death.

Harry's eyes shot open, as he abruptly sat up.

A rattling from his window quickly pulled him out of his thoughts, head snapping up at the noise. He threw the covers off, padding over to the balcony. The door was unlocked. His brows furrowed. He'd been sure he'd locked it.

The air outside was achingly cold, and Harry only stayed long enough to peer into the fogging darkness, waiting for movement. When he saw none, the wizard shut the door, too cold to stay for too long in nothing but his thin t shirt and plaid pants. Regardless of how long it sat in his palm, the Resurrection stone was always a gelid ice.

.

.

.

There was something morbidly amusing about this. Master of Death, going to public run down high school. Master of Death, afraid of fellow classmates.

Though he had every right to be.

He hadn't even properly stepped out of his car when he was immediately bombarded with an armful of clingy Jessica, who had already seemed to be in mid speech before he even pulled into the parking lot.

"I hope we didn't fuck up things with your girlfriend—"And then, with hysteria, "We didn't fuck up things with your girlfriend, right?"

Harry pushed her away, awkwardly, rubbing at his hair. "No, no you guys are fine." He was surprised to see a sullen Mike, Tyler, and even Lauren Mallory crowding around him with drooping faces. "And don't even worry about it, she wasn't my girlfriend—

"Cool," Tyler cut off. "So she's on the market?"

"I think she's getting married, actually." Harry shot him down, much to the boy's visible depression.

"So," Mike looped an arm around Harry, tugging him down to the school. "About that car ride…"

"I don't even know what a Sonic is." Harry interrupted, exasperated. "Or if there's even one in Washington, for that matter. You guys seem pretty remote."

"Trust me." Mike emphasized. "Sonic is worth the drive."

"How far is it? _Oregon_?"

"Hey, hey. There's one in Tacoma. No worries." Mike opened the door with his foot, Jessica and Mallory chattering away close behind them.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. Three hours away."

"And eight minutes!" Cried Mike.

Harry wasn't even sure if he was an acceptable enough driver to even make that drive. Or if he could even do so without getting pulled over. Considering he was driving an unlicensed car without insurance or even a license of his own, he'd have some major confounding to do, and whipping his wand out in front of Mike probably wouldn't be the wisest idea.

School passed by with a dose of normalcy that Harry hadn't been realizing he needed until he had it. Not even lunch, a perpetual turmoil of bustling, swelling tides of people dampened his spirits. No, not even when Eric threw a handful of gummy worms at Angela, the majority of which ending up in his hair, nor when Mike and Jessica devolved into their third fight of the day, this time over whether Dr. Spencer Reid was an acceptable name for their first child. Not even Emmett's weirdly staring brother could penetrate the zen of Harry's day.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this was something he'd been missing for far too long. He wasn't worrying about Voldemort, about the thirty inch essay due tomorrow in Transfigurations, or even Quidditch tryouts. All of which at the time had seemed like necessary activities, but really he realized, were no longer needed.

It was just… contentment.

He hadn't even noticed the bell had rang, or that his friends had left him as Mike called, 'fight! Fight!' and took off into the hallway with the rest of the gang, along with the majority of the school. Typical Mike. There probably wasn't even a fight—the kid most likely just said it for a laugh.

He hadn't even realized he wasn't alone until a voice almost startled him into dropping his tray.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced."

It was Emmett's awkward younger brother. Though he didn't seem to awkward now. If anything, he almost seemed… pleasant?

Harry only shrugged it off. Whatever. If the guy wanted to be cool, he certainly wasn't going to hold any beef.

"No, you're right. Harry." The young wizard held out his hand, the one clutching his own as cold as the air outside. Maybe the guy had just been awkwardly standing around in the cold for thirty minutes, and had just come in.

"Edward." There was the barest tilting of lips.

"So you live with Emmett huh?" Harry began conversationally, hoisting his bag onto one shoulder. "I'm sure its hell, what with the caps on their biggest losing streak."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"The caps?" Harry raised a brow. "Oh… you probably don't follow hockey. Sorry, I just figured—what with Emmett's never ending chatter—

"Oh, the Washington Capitals." Edward nodded slowly. "No, you're right. He's been in a foul mood lately. I suspected it had everything to do with his favorite hockey team's abysmal performance; Emmett's moods are easily susceptible to change over the most petty of things."

"But you gotta love that about him, right?" Harry laughed. "Nothing ever seems to get that guy down. It's refreshing."

"It is." This time, it was a real smile. Edward seemed genuinely pleased that Harry was such a willing, honest friend to his brother. Maybe the guy wasn't so bad after all.

"I'm sure it's going to be worse in lacrosse season. I hadn't even known what it was until Emmett started raving about it." And then, "Do you play?"

Edward shook his head.

"Shame." Harry shrugged. "Everyone's coercing me to join, though I haven't officially met anyone on the team. It'd be nice to at least know someone."

For a little bit, Emmett's brother said nothing at all, and Harry wondered if he'd accidentally set off another mine on the family. They seemed to have them in the most bizarre of places.

"It's a pretty violent sport, right?"

"What, lacrosse?" Harry thought about it, and Emmett's over-winded explanation of he rules. "Yeah, I think so. The death count is pretty low though, as far as contact sports go." And it certainly had nothing on Quidditch, which had around ten or twelve per year.

Harry chanced a quick glance to his walking companion, only to find a dark look had crossed the Junior's eyes.

"You could get hurt."

Harry blinked. "Yeah, I guess. But that's everything, right?" The other boy's concern was almost a little surprising. Why would Edward care for his wellbeing?

"I suppose." Edward bit out. "Well anyway, this is my class. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

"Err—yeah, same." Harry managed out, a bit taken aback with the politeness. Huh. Maybe he was just a polite kind of guy. Quite frankly Harry was surprised they'd yet to run in to everybody. Whatever fight Mike had been talking about, it must have been far.

.

.

.

As Harry had suspected, it rained the majority of the next week. This infuriated Wethersprout, who had been intent on trekking up to the dragon reserve in search of what seemed to be a nesting Ridgeback. The entire ragtag crew of dragon tamers seemed merose at the thought of missing such an event, even Charlie, who was generally in good spirits. How not seeing an enormous, dangerous dragon sitting on a scratched out rock could be disappointing was beyond him.

Luckily, the torrential downpour had stopped mid afternoon Thursday, and the whole crew packed up and bolted out of there, large pickup trucks sloughing in the mud as they tried to catch a glimpse of the Ridgeback before it started to rain again.

Harry was resigning himself to an afternoon spent doing little else then lounging about the large, crooked house, perhaps practicing a few spells or maybe even doing his homework, instead of just confounding the teacher to think he had did his homework.

Though, to be quite honest, he hadn't actually _used _his wand in ages. He wasn't sure which one _to _use.

He'd dropped the stone in the forest, put the Elder Wand back in Dumbledore's grave, and had continued to keep the cloak for himself. Yet every time he fell asleep, by morning they'd be with him once more.

The master of death, Harry thought morosely, you can't get away from it.

His own Holly wand, which had been broken in the war but fixed again, that seemed to realize that it wasn't the only one to claim ownership of him, and seemed to be buffing him. It worked, of course, but there wasn't that breathlessness, that blinding brilliance that he had once felt with it.

And of course, Voldemort's wand. The yew wand that had been the very one to kill his parents, to place the scar on his forehead. A powerful, if not dangerous wand. He hadn't wanted anyone else to get a hold of it, so he'd kept it. Perhaps to remind himself how far he'd come, or perhaps to remind him that he and Voldemort were more alike then he'd ever want to admit. _To speak of one, is to speak of the other. _

As much as he didn't want to admit it.

There was a knock on the door, and, sleepily, Harry trudged over to open it.

Jake was standing on the porch, looking like a wet dog holding a bucket of what, this time, seemed to be turnips of a sort.

"Hey." He smiled.

Harry returned it. "More food?"

Jake shrugged. "Trust me, no one down at the reserve eats this shit."

"And by shit you mean vegetables?" Harry countered, brow raised.

The towering boy gave a laugh. "My point exactly."

Harry took the overgrown turnips, setting them down near the door. Wethersprout had already made radish soup one too many times this week, and hopefully turnips would bring something new to their rather bland menu. It wasn't like a bunch of dragon tamers were going to be able to make anything but questionable stew.

"So, what are you doing today?"

Harry glanced up at the question. "Homework, I guess." Maybe going to the Weasley's, try to help out Ginny by smoothing things over with the family. Perhaps visit Hermione for dinner.

"You should come down to the reserve." Said Jake with a brilliant smile. "See the beach."

"In this weather?" Harry blinked incredulously.

Jake chuckled. "This'll be the best weather we'll see in a long time."

For a moment, Harry contemplated saying no. He really _did _actually have things to do, paperwork to finalize his move at the American ministry, relocating some of his money to the nearest Gringotts branch, and other things that he really didn't want to do.

But for some reason, he didn't.

"Sounds fun.

* * *

_you hate me, I know. but i love myself, so that's alright. have fun everyone, and review!_


	7. Better Things

_I got some random ass inspiration for this story, as usual. _

* * *

**Make Light**

**!**

_chapter seven: Better Things_

True to Jacob's word, the beach was relatively calm, considering the blustering storms which had been rolling through the countryside these past couple days. The water held a murky, almost mysterious tinge to its swirling depths, large craggy rocks jutting out of the rocky beach.

It certainly wasn't winning any awards, but Harry thought the beach almost a little quaint. Clearly it spent most of the year uninhabited by the few Forks natives, as the wild fauna flourished and there were many unusual sea creatures and shells to peruse.

Harry must have spent at least half an hour just watching hermit crabs stumble over his wiggling toes, picking a few up to inspect their tawny, spiraling shells. Jacob seemed mostly amused by his childish behavior, noting that most people just wanted to get right into the water and didn't care for much else.

"People actually get in the water?" Harry echoed, incredulous. For one thing, it mostly looked cold and tenebrous, and for another, he was sure to cut his feet on a couple sharp rocks if he tried.

"Oh sure." Jake nodded, leading Harry on a merry walk through the many towering rocks. "Surfers, a lot. And there's a few good spots for cliff diving."

For some reason, at the thought of jumping some hundred feet Harry felt himself growing excited. "Cliff diving?" He repeated with disbelieving anticipation.

Jake did a double take. "You ever done it?" He laughed, eying Harry's eagerness with bemusement. "It's not exactly the easiest thing to do."

But surely it was easier than diving headfirst into a Wronski Feint in the middle of a darkened sky hounded by Dementors.

Harry didn't say this aloud, though.

"I can handle it." He waved Jake's concern off confidently.

"If you say so." Jake teased, picking up a smoothed rock and skipping it out into the gloomy sea. "You know," He began, changing the subject in what he hoped sounded only like passing curiosity. "You never told me why you moved here."

Harry gave him a sidelong glance. "You never asked." He reminded lightly.

Jake chuckled, looking a little sheepish. "That's true." And then, "Well, are you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell." Harry shrugged. Well, actually there were quite a few things to tell. "I just… wanted a change of scenery, I suppose."

"Change of scenery?" Jake laughed. "Change from what? If you haven't noticed, there really isn't much to see around here…"

"It's rather nice, actually." Harry found himself defending the small, quaint town of Forks. While, like its cold beach, wasn't about to win any awards, it certainly held its own charm. For one thing, everyone was rather inviting, if not a little curious and gossipy. For another, he'd never seen such fresh wilderness in his entire life, aside from the mountains around Hogwarts, which he never really got the chance to explore. London was a typical city, cloudy and covered with a thick mast of fog every morning, and Surrey was even worse. A terrible, maze-like suburbia. "There's a lot of nature, and not too many people."

"A wilderness man then." Jake's brows raised, but mostly he seemed impressed. "I pictured you as more of an urban kid."

"Really?" Now that was curious. "Well, I grew up in a city, I suppose. But my boarding school was in the middle of the wilderness—and I found I liked it better there."

"Yeah?" Jake kicked a hermit crab, looking amused as it flopped into an oncoming wave and scuttled out of the way. "I like how open it is here too, all the forests and stuff. But, I dunno… I've never really been to a city. I've always wanted to try it out."

"Try what out?"

"Other things, I guess." Jake shrugged.

"You should, then." Harry urged, thinking of himself. If he had never left Diagon Alley, and all that pressure that surrounded him, he'd surely be drowning in his own self-hate. The change in scenery had left him more contemplative, and gave him ample time for introspection that he was clearly still putting off.

"I can't." Jake gave him a watery little smile. "I've still got a lot of stuff to do."

"Well, when that's all over," Harry said, thinking Jake was referring to school. "You should try it sometime."

"Sometime." Jake supposed, and Harry wondered why he looked so sad.

Harry was about to question him on it, but he was cut off by the sight of a _giant _burly looking creature jumping out of the woods, taking too enormous, bounding leaps into the sand before barreling straight into Jacob. Harry's eyes widened, and he almost dropped the soda he was holding, jumping back as the boy next to him was tackled to the ground by what seemed to be an enormous, brown, shaggy wolf.

"What the hell—?"

For a moment, Harry was pretty sure that he'd see Jake as nothing but a bloody mess after what seemed to be a random attack by a beastly, giant wolf, and he was fairly sure _none _of the inhabitants had warned him about carnivorous wolves in the forests. But then he heard Jake laughing, and he blinked.

"Oh, godammit, get the _fuck _off me…" Jake was sputtering, but smiling at the same time.

More confounded than he'd like, Harry did nothing but watch as Jake managed to push the enormous fuzzy creature off him—no small feat, but then again, the other boy was built like a _tank—_wiping the slobber off his face and grimacing as he got to his feet.

He gave Harry a twinkling, exuberant smile. "Sorry about that."

No shit.

"You're not going to tell me you're a wolf tamer too…" And then, with no small amount of terror, "Are you?"

"Uh—no!" Jake scratched his cheek sheepishly. The wolf growled at his feet, about waste high—on Jake, mind you, the thing could quite possibly reach Harry's stomach—and Jake amended his statement, "Well sorta. It's a… well, it's a cultural thing, I guess."

"Taming wolves?" Harry repeated, bewildered. He'd never heard of a Native American culture keeping wolves as pets.

"Yeah!" And then, brightening, "He's really friendly. Wanna pet him?"

Harry gave the wolf a long, appraising look, which the wolf seemed to meet back with its most stupid face available, tongue lolling at tail wagging and altogether reminding Harry of one of Hagrid's enormous, crazy ass pets that really shouldn't be pets at all.

Well, he thought, he'd been scared shitless of Buckbeak too, and look how well that turned out?

(Well actually, it hadn't turned out all that great at all.)

Nevertheless, the young wizard tentatively held his hand out, giving the wolf a steady pat to the head, only to end up with a handful of fur as the wolf careened it's head further into his palm.

He cracked a smile. "Friendly wolf."

"No kidding!" Jake chuckled.

Harry looked back up to Jake, who seemed to be watching him fondly. "So, what's the wolf's name?"

"Oh, this one's Emb—" The wolf gave a low growl, and Jake quickly gave a shaky chuckle. "Uh, Ember. This one's name is Ember."

"I can't see why… he's not very red." Harry pointed out.

Jake rubbed his hair. "Ah, well, I don't really name them… it's a… spiritual thing, I guess."

"Huh."

And then, "He's the only one?"

"Who?" Jake looked up from where he had been fondly tugging at the wolf's ear. "Embr—I mean Ember? No, he's definitely not the only one."

And, to Harry's curious glance, he nudged his head at the tree line. "Ten bucks says the rest of them are over there watching us."

And, true to his word, five seconds later three more wolves came prowling out of the dense foliage. Luckily, none of them decided to jump _him,_ only watching him with each of their curious gazes. Harry shivered. They almost seemed human.

"I'm not giving you ten dollars." Harry said, dazedly, eying the wolves with more than a bit of caution.

Jake chuckled. "They won't bite, I swear." As if to prove his point, he nudged one of the giant wolves with his knee. The wolf snapped at him, but almost… playfully.

"Why are they so nice?" Harry wondered aloud, a little unsure of what to make of them.

He supposed he really shouldn't be so surprised. He'd met his fair share of nice magical creatures, after all, and while some of them were terrifying—like boggarts, or giant dragons—some of them were actually pretty sweet. Though those were few and far between. Hell, sometimes he even wanted to punt Hermione's stupid kneazle out the window.

Jake winked at him. "They like you."

Yeah, Ron had said something similar about Scabbers, who then turned out to be the dwarfed betrayer of his parents.

"I guess…" Harry replied uneasily, unsure of what to do as the wolves surrounded him, tails wagging.

Jake seemed to sense he was uncomfortable, and kicked one of the wolves again. "Alright you mongrels, that's enough!"

The first one, Ember, or something, growled at Jake, but it seemed to be more at the 'mongrels' than at the kick. Nevertheless, the wolves backtracked into the forest where they had come from, disappearing into the darkened foliage without a trace.

"Those were _big_ wolves." Harry commented, once they had left.

Jake laughed. "Yeah, they scare the residents sometimes."

And for a moment, neither said anything, only returning to the shoreline where their feet were sprayed with the salty foam of the sea.

Jake broke the silence. "Do you believe in magical creatures?"

Not for the second time that day, Harry almost dropped his soda. "Uh?" He recovered quickly, wiping at his mouth.

"You know, like dragons and stuff."

"Dragons?" Harry repeated, with growing horror. Oh god, where was this going? And why?

Jake shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, look at those mountains." He pointed to the looming steeples behind them. "Don't they look kind of like… a fantasy painting? I feel like a dragon will just pop out of there someday."

Harry almost choked, but refrained. Jake wasn't entirely barking up the wrong tree—many of the higher mountains housed dragons around these parts.

"Maybe." Harry answered, noncommittally.

But Harry knew the truth, too. And, for the first time, he eyed Jacob in a new light.

.

.

.

Harry was actually more impressed with the domesticated wolves than he was with Sonic. Though, in Sonic's defense, their food was bangin. Judiciously lathered with grease, but absolutely banging.

That's how Mike described it, anyway, as they seated themselves on the roof of his car, the boy pouncing on his milkshake like it was a squirming animal he was attempting to cook. The poor thing didn't stand a chance.

"It's the fries that make it worthwhile," Jessica was saying, as she picked up another one. "They're the best fast food fries in the _entire world._"

"I wouldn't know." Harry said, idly, picking at his burger. "I've never had any other fries."

Jessica choked, Mike howled, and, beneath them on the curb, Tyler guffawed loudly. "Never had fries?-!" Tyler stood up, looking offended.

"_Yo_," Mike began, sotto voce, "This—this isn't right, man."

Tyler nodded. "No, _son, _we have got to take you to a McDonalds. That's just, that's just plain unethical right there."

Jess rolled her eyes. "There's a lot of fries in this world, Harry," She advised heartily. "And everyone has their favorites. Personally, I think Sonic has the best—

"McDonalds." Mike cut in flatly, finishing his milkshake with an enormous slurp, before shooting it into the trash. "Those things are like, indestructible."

"That's disgusting." Jess shot back, shriveling her nose.

"You're both wrong!" Cut in Tyler. "Clearly, its Five Guys. That's the only place where they give you vinegar too—

"That shit's _foul_." Mike glowered.

"Eww!" Jessica shrieked.

Harry blinked. "I like vinegar."

The two gave him incredulous looks, as Tyler stood to give him a pat on the shoulder.

Harry supposed the drive wasn't entirely _not _worth it. After all, the three musketeers, as he now fondly referred to them as, seemed to enjoy the enormous amount of saturated fat they were shoveling into their bodies, and Harry couldn't exactly say he didn't enjoy it, either. Mike was right, this food was banging. Certainly not like Hogwarts food, which was more lavish and refined, but the greasiness surely had its own appeal.

But hell, three hours of them fighting each other like rabid cats for the radio stations wasn't fun when he knew he could just apparate them all home in seconds.

They reminded him a bit of himself, about five years ago. Ironic, considering they were all around the same age. But the three of them, Mike, Jess and Tyler, seemed to have a breadth of naivety about them, a certain jovial quality that, if he and his friends had ever possessed, had quickly evaporated by the end of their second year.

Perhaps that was the issue with the Magical World, Harry mused, as they drove back in relative silence considering the turmoil the drive up was. The illustrious, imaginative spirit of the magic seemed to have gotten lost with the politics and economics of unbidden society, all that frank, candid beauty that had made that world so stunning to his blinded eyes lost in the violent pandemonium of war and culture.

For a brief moment, Harry found himself wishing to be in the Weasley kitchen once more, amazed with the pots and the clocks and all the _magic _breathing in that house, which the entire wizarding world seemed to take for granted.

Then Jessica kicked his chair, and he was jolted out of his reverie.

"—That's Smashing Pumpkins!" Tyler was screeching, clawing at Mike's hair like a rabid beast. "You can't change that!"

Mike didn't seam to hear him, the radio diving in and out of a static ocean. "I thought for sure Top Twenty on Twenty was on 107.5!"

Jess rolled her eyes, scrunched in the back with Tyler half way over the seat. "That's only for Port Angeles!" She rebuked, muffled by Tyler.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why don't we just not put music on at all?"

The three paused, looking at him blankly.

He took his eyes off the road for a split second. "What?"

Jess shook her head, looking at him fondly. "Oh, Harry, I love you. You're like a little Martian!" She chuckled, before turning back towards her two companions and beginning the fight for the radio anew.

Eventually they settled onto a 90's punk rock station, after unanimously agreeing that anything was better than Justin Beiber's wailing voice down this side of the mountain, and Harry was just content to listen to _anything, _regardless of whether Kurt Cobain's voice could be considered, 'gratingly sexual' or, 'hoarsely overbearing'. Though no one else seemed to share his sentiment, arguing over complex latent meanings to lyrics that he didn't see at all, or whether the bass was overused.

Harry was a little more than relieved to drop them all of in their respective houses, hastily wheedling out of their incessant pleas to hang out with vague answers.

.

.

.

"And _then, _he turns around in and sees himself in the mirror—and _her, _without a reflection!" Jessica turned to him, eyes bright.

Harry blinked back at her, stupidly. "I'm sorry?"

"On last night's episode of True Blood, Harry." She rolled her eyes, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Oh." The wizard returned to his baffling calculus problems. "Why's that so strange?"

"What; True Blood?" Jessica gaped at him.

Harry shook his head. "No, not that." Though to that end, True Blood was certainly strange in its own right. Why Muggles had an inane fascination with the creatures that generally the wizarding world were mostly annoyed by, Harry hadn't any idea. Perhaps because of their false-interpretations. "The mirror."

"Because she's a _vampire, _Harry!" Jessica said, like it was obvious. "So she doesn't have a reflection!"

"Vampires have reflections." Harry scoffed.

Jessica guffawed, leaning back in her chair. More interested in their calculus work—or in Jessica's case, yesterday's episode of True Blood—neither noticed both Cullen siblings stiffen behind them.

"How would you know?" She crowed, twirling a piece of hair.

"Well.." He began, genuinely confused now. "Why wouldn't they?"

Though he hadn't met many vampires in his days, he certainly didn't remember Sanguini _not _having a reflection. Granted, he didn't really remember much of the vampire at all.

"Oh, so you're the expert on them now, huh?" Jessica huffed, but mostly in jest. It was hard to take her irritation seriously with her wide grin. "The boy who doesn't even know what True Blood _is, _the vampire extraordinaire."

"Well I never said _that." _Harry protested.

"Teach me, then!" She giggled, kicking her chair back and pushing away her binder and completely undone homework.

Harry sputtered, unsure of what to say. Should he take her seriously? He never knew with people like Jessica—overtly exuberant in a socially acceptable way.

Well, on that note, he really didn't know much about the elusive magical species. He'd had to write a paper on them once, in Professor Binns class, but it goes without saying that _he _hadn't been the one to do it. Generally he and Ron spent all their afternoons prior to a History of Magic assignment indulging in exploding snap, quietly waiting for Hermione to doze off before grabbing hers and quickly scrawling down her essays.

"They're really not all that different than humans." Harry found himself saying.

The brunette cocked an eyebrow, as if she expected wiser words.

A little incensed, Harry continued; "They're cold to the touch, and life forever… but the only way to kill them is to rip them to shreds and burn them."

"Where did you learn all that?" Jessica asked, clearly impressed.

"…Dracula?" Harry hedged.

The girl blinked at him a couple times, before wondering thoughtfully, "Is there any romance in that book? Maybe I'll try a turn at it…"

Luckily, Harry didn't have to say much else, as the bell took an opportune moment to jolt them out of their reverie, Jessica speedily taking off for her next class, Environmental Science with Mike. Harry breathed out quickly through his nose.

Muggles.

They'd be the death of him.

"Are you alright?"

Harry turned, halfway into faithlessly stuffing his books back into his bag, wishing for a levitation charm.

It was Emmett's strange brother, Edward. Well, _stranger _brother. Jasper wasn't really normal in any sense of the word. He had on a crooked, pained looking smile, and stood a little stiff. A couple girls passed and gave the other boy meaningful looks, but Edward, if he noticed, didn't look in any other direction but Harry's.

"I'm fine." Harry answered, a pinch to his brows. "Just not feeling too well."

"Those vampires aren't getting to you?" Edward chuckled, but it looked forceful.

Harry smirked. "I'm not afraid of a couple vampires." Or any dark creature, for that matter. After all, the Dark Lord hadn't killed himself.

Though he wasn't lying about the under the weather part. He'd been having awful dreams lately,

"I'm sure." Edward echoed dubiously, though he didn't look the least bit convinced.

The two walked down a stretch of hallway, before rounding the corner and almost completely running into the burly Emmett. The boy took one look at the both of them, before giving a wide, pleased grin.

"Fancy seeing you two here!" He chuckled, swinging a friendly, if not enormous, arm around Harry. The smaller boy tried not to choke. The senior was cold, like he'd been walking outside for some time. "Ready for some 8 v 8, Harry?"

"I'm sorry?" The wizard wheezed, politely moving out of Emmett's unintentional bear-grip before it choked him completely.

"Basketball!" The older boy replied, looking shocked. "Don't tell me you Britts don't play basketball."

"I'm sure we do." Harry supposed aloud, rubbing his throat. "But I'm sure we aren't all that good at it."

"You're not hurt, are you?" Edward was by his side immediately, cold fingers prying softly at the lines of his neck.

Harry jerked back, surprised at such an intimate touch. "Fine." He answered shortly, bottle green eyes moving up to Edward, who stood looking down at him, unreadable. Harry thought he might have seen something flash quickly, before it was gone.

The junior broke eye contact, narrowing his eyes at his brother. "Don't rough house." He warned.

"That wasn't even all that bad!" Emmett protested, not looking the least bit concerned with his younger brother's ire. He swung another arm around Harry, lightly this time. "He's not made of glass, you know."

Harry wasn't sure which one to be grateful for—Emmett, for reminding the world he wasn't about to break any time soon, or Edward, for attempting to look after him.

He settled for neither.

"I suppose I'll just have to make my country proud." He reverted back to their earlier subject.

Emmett smirked. "Now that's the spirit!"

.

.

.

Now if only Emmett was hear to remind _Hermione _he wasn't going to break soon, too.

The girl had arrived impromptu at Charlie's house in northern Washington State, a tad disheveled from such a long ride through the chimney, tumbling out of the fireplace with an enormous clout of ash. Harry was so startled by the loud crash that he immediately ushered Jacob out of the house—much to the other boy's confusion.

The native American insisted that he had heard someone breaking into Harry's house, and Harry had insisted that it was just his roommates attempting UFC. Eventually, Harry won the argument, placating Jake with more plans to hang out when the rest of the house wasn't occupied. The other boy even managed to wrangle out the number to his phone he never used. Not that Harry entirely minded. It was nice to have a normal friend.

Not in the wild muggle fashion, like Jess, Mike and Tyler, who were typical, popular kids at FHS who constantly had something inane, but still vaguely annoying, going on. Harry enjoyed them at arm's length, their funny banter and trivial, shallow problems. At the same time, he was pleased to have Jake, who seemed to connect to him at a deeper level, even without knowing anything about the magical world.

And then there were of course Hermione and Ron, the ends to a world he sometimes wished he'd never stumbled into, just as much as he fervently wished he'd never left.

"Sorry to pop in like that." Hermione greeted, pulling a stray leaf out of her hair. "Friend of yours?"

"Something like that." Harry hedged, unsure of how he felt about Hermione meeting Jake. Apprehensive, most likely. "How is everything?"

"Getting there." Hermione answered drily, snapping her umbrella shut and moving towards the kitchen. "Merlin! How do you men live like this?"

Ah, she must have found the breakfast mess.

Thirty minutes later and Hermione was seated comfortable in the breakfast alcove, enamored with the beautiful backdrop of the Olympian peninsula, nursing one of Harry's infamous brews of lady grey tea. She'd set most of the available rags and sponges to work, the utensils scrubbing tirelessly over the sink, a few suds floating in the air from their toiling work.

"—Not that anyone wants to rehash old prejudices." His ministry friend was explaining. "It's a battlefield honestly, Harry, and we seem to be stuck somewhere between attrition and nuclear warfare."

"Doesn't sound good." Harry commented, sipping his tea. He really wasn't one to get into the ministry—too many arguments, too little action. Someone had to do it though, he supposed.

"You don't know the half of it." Hermione huffed, leaning back. For a moment, all the stewing anger seemed to drift away from her, leaving his best friend, exhausted, eying the hazy sea behind the sprawl of red mountains.

"And I'm sorry for that." Harry swallowed thickly. "But I just—

"No one expects anything of you, Harry." Hermione insisted quickly, with a slight smile. "You've done more than enough. Leave all this to everyone else, alright?"

"Alright." Harry nodded, not wanting to argue over something he really didn't want to do, anyway. He loved the flawed world of magic, as much as he incessantly wanted to get away from it.

"Good." And then she turned a bit sheepish. "Well actually, I did come here for a favor from you…"

Apparently none of the new Aurors Kingsley had been righteously terrifying would step anywhere near the bitter remains of Azkaban, the floating stone island in the middle of a tenebrous, gloomy sea. This was why the afternoon found Hermione, Harry, and the remaining guards of the once powerful prison rowing through the murky waters, parting through the mist.

The dementors had yet to be banished to—well, wherever they originally came from—and Harry could hear their wilting cries through the wafting smoke, a wailing, sorrowful sound. Next to him, Hermione bundled further into her coat, looking like a determined, if not furry head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Eventually, the wraith-like mist crawled away to reveal the sprawling, crumbling once insurmountable prison, looming above them and spiraled with dark, floating creatures.

None of the guards particularly wanted to get out of the boat, so Harry and Hermione exited onto the stone platform as the boat docked.

"I've never actually been here." Hermione whispered, as they pulled their wands out and began to ascend up the broken steps.

Harry nodded, only half listening, keeping his eyes on the floating phantoms above them. Strangely enough, none of the starving dementors had yet to come after them.

"Why _are _we here, then?" Harry whispered back to her, after her words caught up to him.

"Someone's got to do away with the dementors." Hermione whispered back.

"They don't listen to anyone." Harry reminded her.

"They listened to Voldemort, didn't they?" Hermione retorted.

Harry wanted to point out that that was _Voldemort, _the most terrifying, dark wizard to have ever lived. Regardless of whether he was a halfblood or not, the man inspired fear and begrudging respect out of anyone he met—well, everyone aside from Harry. But that was different. They had a history.

And anyway, just because he defeated the once magnificent, if not calamitous Dark Lord, didn't mean he was anything like him.

He hoped not, anyway.

"They're not coming down." Hermione noted, as they finally reached the summit of the long, winding staircase. Beneath them, Harry could make out the boat through the fog. The iron-wrought gates had been blown open—probably by Voldemort—and lingered as twisted metal, revealing the maw of darkness that marked the entrance into the prison.

Harry turned his eyes away from the impenetrable gloom of the prison's jaws, to the smoky film of the sky, where Dementors dotted the clouds like small specks of shadow.

"I'm going in." He said aloud, before he could even think of his own words.

Hermione whirled around. "_What_? Harry you can't possibly—

"You can cast a patronus, I can, and I'm sure the guards down there can as well." Harry noted. "We'll be fine."

"But…" Hermione's gaze flew past him, to the looming obscurity behind the blown gates.

"There's… something I have to see." Harry swallowed, before turning away from her without another word.

"Harry!" The girl called, taking a few steps away from the cliff. But her best friend was already nothing but a shifting swath of gold and red against the tides of mist, already disappearing into the darkness. "Harry…"

But the championed wizard was already halfway into the prison, and couldn't hear anything, let alone Hermione's half-whispered plea. The cells were small, and rotten-smelling, bitter cold with the salty sea air. His footsteps following the inscrutable path Voldemort had once taken to free his followers, nebulized by the shroud of their now severed connection.

He paused at Malfoy's old cell, a tiny thing with a bench. He could make out little else, aside from the dirtied stone which enclosed the esophagus of the prison, his lumos doing nothing but effusing the hall in a hazy gloom.

Five cells down was the ends of a vesuvian explosion, rock and metal ripped apart to create a gaping view of the tumultuous sky.

This was where Voldemort released Bellatrix, where the crazed woman who killed so many of his loved ones escaped from.

There was a moment of brief speculation as Harry's fingers grasped the cold wood of the Elder Wand, where his breath seemed to turn to stone in the dark.

And then his hand flew up, portended by nothing but the narrowing of his eyes, and an effloresce of hot, searing light bloomed at the tip of his wand, before the entire wall next to Bellatrix' cage exploded.

What was left after the volcanic explosion was nothing but gathering dust and smoke, the entire wall thrown clear into the sea.

Harry put the wand down, and took a deep breath.

He smirked.

_I'm stronger than you. _He thought, guiltlessly copacetic. _I'm stronger than you, Voldemort. _

When a wash of cold overcame him, the Wizard opened his eyes, starlted.

In front of him, the dementors seemed to have amassed against he remains of the wall, swimming in the sky above him and hovering around him.

Harry whipped his wand out, holding it out in front of him menacingly.

"Expecto—

"We aren't here for your soul." One of the dementoors, of which Harry should have assumed was the leader considering he spearheaded the pack, spoke aloud.

Harry paused.

They certainly never talked to him before.

"What are you here for, then?" He whispered, dangerously.

"We only need to know if you require anything from us."

"Require anything?" Harry echoed, confused. The dementors, being polite?

Maybe they had to, he reasoned. This was Azkaban, and certainly the dementors had to listen to someone… maybe they were just confusing him with the original Azkaban head, before Voldemort had persuaded them to his side.

He was about to question them further, when something began to burn in his pocket. For a moment, he thought it might be the resurrection stone, somehow making its way onto his person once more. Then he realized it wasn't a burn at all, but a _vibration. _

Harry pulled the vibrating phone out of his pocket numbly, bringing it to his face to study the glowing LED light.

_Hey what are you doing this Friday?_

It read, with almost inconceivable nonchalance.

Harry took a few moments to just _stare _at in, incomprehensibly.

It was from Jacob. This really shouldn't have been all that surprising. He _had _told the other boy he'd wanted to hang out some time next week… and he _had _said to text him…

But to think Jake could reach him _here, _of all places.

_The inescapable prison with a 4G network. _Harry thought, exasperated.

"I require nothing of you." Harry said aloud this time, putting the phone down. "You're free to do as you please—but don't terrorize people."

The head dementor dipped its head, floating back up into the air to join its followers, but not before heading, "You'll know how to find us, if the need ever arises."

And with that, the imposing crowd of hooded figures dissipated into the mist, leaving one bewildered Harry.

"Fat chance of that." Harry scoffed, returning to his phone.

_Nothing, I don't think. You?_

* * *

_ah, gotta love jake. and phone service. my phone takes a nose dive the moment the dc metro starts to move and yet i went cave diving in mexico and had 4 bars? wtf at and t, fucking up as usual. _

_reviewwwwwwwww_


	8. Carried Away

_SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I'm aware that it's been like two years... omg wtf. I promise this isn't abandoned at all though. I love this story like an awkward but adorable pet. Wait, actually I hate pets. Also, praise Passion Pit for their new album and my new inspiration for this story! _

* * *

**_Make Light_**

**_!_**

_Chapter Eight: Carried Away_

Hermione wasn't pleased he had taken so long, but she seemed relieved to see him in better spirits coming out of the prison than he had been walking in, and seemed to take his good mood at face value—and not question its beginnings, much to Harry's relief.

The rest of the week progressed in what could only be defined as a miserable, lethargic daze.

Harry spent the majority of his mornings attempting to blink the sleep out of his eyes, to little avail. It seemed to drape over him in a thick coat, darkening the world in a dull sheen. Harry wasn't sure what brought on the bad mood—the weather, perhaps. If possible it had gotten even drearier, clouds maundering the ground in heavy, wet mist. The gloom was almost tangible as he and his friends made their way back to his car, even Mike's untamable abrasiveness subdued with the coming of winter.

The only one who seemed pleased with this sudden overtaking of gloom was Emmett, taking the turn of weather with better spirits than his peers, cheerily messing around in gym class and attempting to teach Harry how to shoot a three-pointer.

Harry, as a Brit who had no real interest in basketball, was predictably learning very little.

Unfortunately, with the coming season no one seemed to care.

"Say shit about the Bulls again, I fucking _dare _you," Mike was saying with a surprising amount of heat considering it was Mike.

Tyler scoffed. "Dude, don't even get me _started. _If I have to hear one more minute of you saying how Jimmy Butler is gonna be _it _this year I sweat to god I will fucking—

"That guy is so _clutch_!—"

"Destroy you and everything you love."

Harry, for his part, had managed to stay out of the scathing debate for the better part of the last two hours it had been going on, but it was an incredible misfortune that he would be subjected to it in the closed quarters of his car.

He wasn't sure how it was possible, but this basketball seemed to really bring the worst out of people.

"Don't take it personally." Jess rolled her eyes, keeping pace beside him some feet in front of the bantering boys. "They always get like this during the start of the season."

"Of the basketball season?" Harry clarified, already feeling lost. He was really cursing the fact he never cared for muggle sports in his youth—who knew they were so important as a teenage boy?

She nodded. "You see, Mike is a Bulls fan." She waved in the direction of her boyfriend. Harry could tell this, though, because his hat had a bull on the front. "And Tyler is a Lakers fan. They're not exactly like _main _rivals or anything, but… they're still opposite teams. They do this every year."

Harry nodded. Alright then, so sort of like the Chudley Cannons and Puddlemere United.

If only everyone sort of gave a blanket explanation for these kinds of things—it would be so incredibly helpful, especially when there were _this many muggle sports. _Which started at the exact same time.

"There's basketball, football, hockey, soccer… well, I suppose _you _know it as football, so that'd make the other one _American _football..." Jessica was attempting to explain. She wasn't particularly good at it, however, and was constantly going off on a tangent about something or other and leaving Harry bewildered and perturbed.

Jake was a vastly better improvement.

"You really don't know any?" He cocked his head to the side, looking supremely amused but was courteous enough to at least attempt to hide it.

Harry glowered. "It was never an issue back in—in, Scotland." And then, feebly, "I watch football."

"So you're a Celtic fan?" Jacob pondered aloud, looking visibly disturbed at the thought.

Harry's mind drew a blank. "Uh…"

Fortunately, the other boy didn't wait for a reply, shaking his head as if the very thought was preposterous. "No way. You said you're from London, right? You're probably a Manny U fan. Or is it Manchester City?"

At this, at least, he had some idea. He was fairly sure one of the following was still hung on Dudley's wall. "United." He swallowed, already feeling out of his depth here.

Jake looked appeased. "Well, I personally like soccer—err, football, sorry—but it's not as popular around here. You watch any hockey?"

He blinked.

Jake laughed. "That's a no, huh?"

The wizard sighed. "If I'm getting the run down of every sport, I'm going to make some tea. Would you like any?"

The dark-haired boy looked amused. "Tea? Man, you're so British. Nah I'm good… coffee would be great though."

This wasn't exactly what Harry had imagined when Jake had asked him to 'hang out'—generally he drew all he knew of muggle social interactions from his new muggle friends and vague recollections of telly sitcoms he was forced to sit through with Dudley. It certainly wasn't bad though… in fact, it was actually rather pleasant.

"So if you're not a sports fan, what do you like?" Jake asked curiously, before flushing. "Not that it's, like, a bad thing or anything, if you don't like them. It's cool. I'm not the biggest fan either—

"I like playing them." Harry interrupted mercifully, before Jake could dig himself a deeper hole. "I—used to play them a lot. I was the Captain of my… _rugby _team. It was a lot of fun… probably my most fondest memories of school."

"Rugby, huh?" He grinned.

"I don't look like much of one, I know." Harry was quick to secede, puttering about the kitchen. Occasionally his movements would look a bit jerky, like he wasn't sure of what went next in the procession of making tea and coffee, or like he didn't do it this way very often. "But, I've always been very fast and… clever, I suppose. Probably my defining features."

"Fast and clever?" Jake repeated, smiling.

Harry smiled back. "Oh, yes. Probably saved me more times than not."

_And more times than you'll ever know. _

He poured the dark liquid into a brittle looking cup once he was finished, setting it in a saucer and placing it in front of Jake. He took it with a nod of thanks, already reaching for the tea biscuits. He wondered if this is how you hung out with friends in Britain—so cordial, with unlimited supplies of snacks and tea. If this was Embry of any of his other friends they'd be sloppily sprawled on a couch, crowing about the Canucks or playing Battlefield 3, or whatever first person shooter was out at the moment, eating greasy pizza and generally lazing around. He appraised Harry thoughtfully as the boy moved back to the counter to steep his tea bag. Harry was so… vastly different than anyone he'd ever met their age.

He was reserved and thoughtful—and incredibly patient. There were times when he looked like, had he been younger, he'd have gotten angry and restless. Annoyed, reckless, the reactions Jake would expect from his other friends—the ones he set to first. But it seemed weathered out of Harry, worn into a certain maturity that Jake couldn't quite place. Like Harry had seen it all and done it all, and sat before him at the end of some great journey that was more than Jake would ever know.

Was it sadness, maybe, that he saw there?

Resignation?

Whatever it was he felt, watching Harry now, eying the dreary skyline outside of the windows with a look on his face that seemed a thousand years old, he wanted it to go away. He wanted to erase it, to bring him back to here and now, with him.

"Hey," He began abruptly, with a surprising amount of resolve. "You got any travel mugs?"

.

.

.

Harry wasn't sure what they were doing in the crisp fall air of Forks, but he hoped his bad mood hadn't rubbed off on his present company.

It wasn't Jake's fault, certainly, that he'd been feeling moody all week. This time of year always did it for him—reminded him of the clouting, choking smoke of the Hogwarts Express, the red and gold scarves and hats in sharp relief of the mist, a brewing anticipation and breathless excitement growing in the pit of his stomach with the changing leaves. But it'd been years since he'd felt that helpless innocence, since the colder air signified a freedom from his oppressive summers.

He'd be lying if he said he'd ever grown out of it.

And Jake was truly a good friend… he was everything Harry had hoped for, going so far away from home. He knew nothing about Harry, about the War that had changed everyone and everything, about the victorious struggle and the inevitable aftermath, the loss. He just… existed. Calmly, peacefully, _wondrously._

Everything about him was wonderful, sort of. Harry couldn't remember if there was ever a time in his life he had been just as buoyant, positive and cheerful and so sunny and bright he seemed to light up the room just by being in there. There was something inspiring about it, actually, and like the cold and darkened moon he seemed to draw closer to that blinding sun.

Even now, here he was, pointing out the sights and mountains that stood in contrast to the billowing gray clouds, trying to lighten Harry's mood when he could surely be spending his time with his friends, merry friends who made for better company than the gloomy companion Harry was at present.

Yet here he was, spinning tales of grand legends his tribe had told him, passed down generations and generations through stories and fairytales. About the great bear spirit and the mountain gods and the river sprites, and the running clan of wolves.

"—And the wolves were created to keep the cold ones away, to keep the lands pure and protect them from those to seek harm. And when that threat comes again, the wolves will return." Jake paused then, turning to his companion, who had stopped in the dry grass to stare into the peaks of the mountains. "And… yeah. That's the legend, I guess. It's a little long—

"It's wonderful. Fascinating." Harry cut him off, turning back with a smile, green eyes looking unnaturally bright in the dim world around him. "Your people have such a rich history in this place… and it's really beautiful here, you know? Not anything like London. Everything seems so crowded there."

"Yeah, I bet." Jake chuckled, spinning his mug around in his hands a bit anxiously. "Maybe I'll visit someday."

"Yeah?" Harry was looking at him, again, with those unnerving green eyes. Jake wondered what he was seeing, when he looked at him. His smile was soft. "I'd have to show you around, too—granted, everything about London is incredibly touristy, I'm sure you've heard of most of it."

"It'd be a different experience seeing it all myself though." With Harry by his side. The idea warmed in his stomach, an anxious, fluttery feeling.

The brunette was still smiling at him, and above him, in the gloom of the afternoon stratosphere, erupted an enormous, fire breathing dragon.

.

.

.

Considering this was the _third _time this had happened to him, Jake decided he was to blame. There were only so many ways giant magical creatures that shouldn't exist could surprise you before inevitably it was somehow your fault. He wasn't sure what he could have done though—disrupted some higher power? Didn't slay enough goats to appease the wrath of the mighty dragon gods? Not enough vegetables?

Regardless, he was standing in the middle of an open field a long ways out from Harry's house, wearing his wind breaker that gleamed white with certain lighting—it'd only ever served him well when he was traipsing around the highways at night, but now it seemed a particular curse. Add to that Harry's blinding red and gold scarf—that dragon'd have to be blind not to spot them.

"It's kind of cold out here." Jake started, rushed. "Why don't we head back inside?"

"Already?" Harry pouted. "Weren't you going to tell me of the mountain gods and the eagles next?"

"…Maybe next time." How Harry didn't notice Jake's eyes bulging towards the sky was a silent miracle. "Right now, I could really go for some more tea."

At this, Harry brightened. "Certainly! Would you rather the orange chamomile or the new mint lemon? Personally, I like the mint on cold days like this—

"Sure, sure." He tugged the other boy along, grabbing at the small strip of warm skin where Harry's jacket ended and his gloves began. The other boy looked a little bewildered, but didn't protest.

He trekked briskly back to the dilapidated looking mansion, throwing open the back door with more force than necessary and pacing wildly around the kitchen. Harry watched him as if he saw this all the time, going about cleaning their mugs and beginning to brew more tea.

Finally after many seconds of Jake loudly hyperventilating and praying that the dragon hadn't followed them in and was about to breathe fire all over the wooden house, Harry turned to him, leaning against the counter with an unabashed curious gaze.

"Jake… are you alright?"

"Fine. Fine." He muttered absentmindedly, before radically changing track. "Wait, _no. _I'm not, actually."

He walked towards the boy, placing his hands on his shoulders. Harry looked mildly surprised, but didn't brush him off. His hands were so big on the boy's shoulders—he was quite a ways shorter than him, built like a bird—before staring seriously into his eyes. "Harry." He started, wildly. "We are in serious danger."

The brunette quirked a brow, a smile teasing the side of his lips. "Really." He remarked, flatly.

"Yes." Jake answered gravely. "Yes. Jesus, just hear me out. I know this sounds crazy—

"_You're _acting a little crazy right now, are you sure you're okay?—

"But I swear to god what I'm about to say is entirely true. Remember that day we met in the forest?"

Harry studied him closely. "Yes?" He returned, at length.

"Did you think… I don't know, did I act a little weird to you?"

"You're acting really weird right now." Harry was quick to point out.

"Well, yeah, but—anyway, it was because, because there was this huge…" He broke off, suddenly unable to look at the blinding green eyes, staring back at him with rapt attention.

He took a breath, and then turned back to those burning eyes. "There was a dragon behind you, Harry."

The other boy said absolutely nothing at all, his mouth opening a bit into a perfect, wet circle that would have distracted Jake had he not already been so distracted, brows shooting upwards.

"I'm aware of how that sounds." Jake said flatly.

He still wasn't saying anything. Beneath his sweating palms, the material of Harry's sweater was soft and warm.

"And… and I thought I was crazy too, okay? None of my friends saw it—I thought I was just hallucinating. Food poisoning, or something. And then I saw it again. A _different _one, outside of your window, flying in the sky. I knew I hadn't made it all up, then, but I kind of brushed it off. And _now, _Harry, I swear, when we were out there, it came out of the clouds—and it was _huge, _like, like a giant flying dinosaur or something and I'm not making this up I swear—

"Now?" Harry interrupted his breathless rant to finally respond. "You saw it just now? Here?"

He nodded fervently.

"Jake, what did it look like? Do you remember? Was it red? What kind of wings did it have, webbed-like or leathery?" He practically pounced on him with the questions, holding Jake's forearms with surprising strength.

"I—um, what?" He sputtered, taken aback by all the… random questions. "I think it was red? Harry, I wasn't exactly paying attention to how it _looked. _I still a little stuck on the fact it was real."

Harry waved that off. "Yes, wow, that's absolutely crazy. Who would have thought they existed? But really, nothing at all? Did you maybe catch a glimpse at its tail? Did it have a barb at the end?"

"_Harry._"

"Sorry, sorry." He didn't sound very apologetic. "It must have been really scary to see that. Are you alright?"

"Am I alright." Jake repeated, incredulously. "Harry, we just saw a _dragon. _How are you okay with that? _Are _you okay?"

"No, I'm terrified." Actually, he looked a little excited. "Are you freaked out right now? Wait, never mind you must be. Why don't you go sit down and I'll make you that tea… chamomile now, probably, to help with all the nerves—

"I'm not freaking out!" Jake protested, but he stopped gripping Harry's shoulders regardless, letting his hands fall awkwardly to his sides.

And then, to Harry's deadpan look, "Alright, maybe a bit." He allowed, before starting anew, "But Harry… look, I never knew dragons existed, but it doesn't… well, it doesn't exactly surprise me."

"Really?" Harry looked torn between amusement and genuine curiosity.

Jake swallowed audibly. Well, it was now or never. This was as good an opportunity as any, to tell Harry all about the shifting and the imprints… hopefully he wouldn't take it too poorly, but then he seemed pretty alright with the whole dragon thing—

"You see, the thing is—

"Harry!"

The backdoor slammed against the wooden frame with a crash, jolting Jake out of his words and literally making him jump.

In the doorway stood a burly man with a long blonde beard singed at the bottom, almost sentient-looking eyebrows, and what appeared to be large orange oven mitts.

"Harry!" He repeated, voice booming loudly. "You've _got _to see this beaut! God she's a glory—and she's angry! _Ho ho_! Found one of Whethersprouts traps and followed him here, such a smart one, that Ridgeback!"

"A ridgeback?" Harry repeated, sounding mildly excited. "Yes, I thought so! None of the other ones ever dare come so close to civilization… That's fantastic, Burgundy!" And then, pausing, "But, isn't it a bit worrying to bring it so close to the house?"

"'Course not!" He laughed heartily. "She's a docile thing Harry, swear on Merlin's beard—She's just a bit riled up right now, you'll see. She's a sweetheart when she's calm."

"I'm sure." The brunette replied skeptically.

There was a large, earth-shaking roar from outside, followed quickly by the hearty and cheerful shouts of men. Jake stared past Burgundy, bewildered and somewhat terrified, as a jet of fire streamed past his left shoulder.

"Aye! She's gotten out of that leash! Scuse me, Harry, should probably get back over there. I'll see you for dinner, alright? Seven sound good?"

"Seven's fine!" Harry called to the large man's retreating back. "We're going out though so look presentable! There's no way I'm cooking again!"

Burgundy made a vaguely positive noise as he scurried back into the grassy fields behind the house, where, from what Jake could see, four or five men were chaining down an enormous, fire breathing dragon.

But really.

What _in the actual fuck._

He voiced as much aloud, and Harry turned to surmise him with rapt eyes. Terrified eyes. Like he had completely forgotten Jake was there.

"Sorry." Jake breathed, still staring out at the bewildering scene outside the backdoor. A redhead had managed to leap on top of the dragon, attempting to leash it with some kind of large chain as the dragon attempted to buck him off, great neck swinging violently back and forth. His companions on the ground cheered him on.

"I'm just…I don't…" Jake blinked. He stopped, started again, and then finally took in a great breath, and then exhaled. "I'm so confused right now."

Harry looked at him with mirth.

"It's alright, Jake." He soothed, placing a calming hand on Jake's shoulder and walking him to the breakfast nook. Jake slumped lifelessly onto the bench. "It's a lot to take in."

He made a disgruntled noise, before blinking up quickly at Harry. "Wait a minute. You knew?"

Harry looked a bit sheepish, now. "Well, no, I had no idea you'd seen any dragons… but yes, I did know they exist."

"So then, you and your roommates," He made a grand gesture, of which he wasn't sure what it was supposed to encompass. Everything that made no sense right now, probably. "What? Catch dragons? What do you do with them? Sell them to the highest bidder? Cook them for food?"

At this, Harry laughed. It was such a bright, glorious sound, and for a moment Jake completely forgot about their current baffling predicament in favor of awe. It was the first time he'd ever heard Harry laugh as loud and as truly as this and it was… it was beautiful.

"No, of course not." He chuckled, once his fit of laughter had receded. "They're Dragon Tamers. About twenty miles out from Forks is a Dragon Reserve—The Olympic Peninsula Dragon Reserve, actually, but muggles mostly know it was Olympic National Park. That's where all the dragons live. Well, the ones around here, anyway. They can't exactly just fly around wherever, you know? The muggles might see them."

"Muggles?" Jake blinked, already lost. Nothing Harry was saying was making sense. Dragon reserves? What?

Harry seemed to see him then, truly, and he looked a bit guilty. "Right. Sorry. Muggles are non-magical folk—

"Whoa, _hold up._" Jake leaned back. "_Magic?"_

"Uh, yeah." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Magic. It's a thing. It's a big thing, actually. There are people who can use magic, witches and wizards, and then there's magical creatures like dragons and goblins and giants and they live in small pockets around the world and are ruled by the Wizengamot—

"Harry, please." Jake breathed deeply through his nose. "You're not making any sense right now. Slow down and just… explain?"

He gave him a sheepish smile, sliding into the booth next to him and grabbing Jake's hands. His hands that were shaking. Huh. They stopped once Harry tentatively slid his hands into Jake's. Jake was a little caught up in the gesture, staring down at Harry's tiny hands in his, and almost completely missed what he was saying.

"Jake, I'm a wizard." He was staring right at him, serious as anything Jake had ever seen. "I can do magic. If you asked me right now to turn this table into a lamp I could do it for you—well, it might not be the best looking lamp you'd ever seen, but a lamp nonetheless—or even transfigure your clothes into a clown outfit. When I was eleven, I was living in London when I got this letter inviting me to go to a magical school, because I was a wizard. I spent the last seven, err, six years there. That's where I met Charlie, one of the dragon tamers here. He's my best mate's older brother. He's a dragon tamer, Jake. That's his profession."

Jake blinked at him, and Harry stared right back.

"Do it."

The brunette tilted his head, questioningly.

"Do something magical."

Harry searched his eyes, as if measuring his conviction. He must have found what he was looking for, because he slid one of his hands out of Jake's and pulled out a smooth, dark brown stick from his pocket.

"_Avis!"_

A flock of bright white doves erupted from the tip of Harry's wand, feathers unfurling like curling tendrils, swirling out like wisps of light and leaving feathers all over the place, flying for the open backdoor.

Jake watched in awe as they took off, a few flying by the windows in bursts of color and sound, before turning back to Harry, whose eyes had never left his face. He seemed to be studying him deeply. Expecting something.

But all that came out of Jake's mouth was a breathless, "Wow."

At this, Harry cracked a smile. Whatever tension that had slid upon them drifted away just as quickly.

"…This sort of explains a lot." Jake scratched his hair. "Are you a dragon tamer too?"

Harry looked mildly offended, before dissolving into more laughter. "Oh, Merlin no. I like to think I have a little bit more self preservation than that."

"Merlin." Jake repeated, softly.

Harry seemed to remember himself. "Oh, yeah. It's… a magical expression, I suppose?"

"Merlin." Jake repeated, again. "Was he real?"

"I think so?" Harry pondered aloud. "I'm pretty sure we studied him in my Magical History class—but I was asleep for most of that. At any rate, he died a long time ago."

Jake shook his head. One of Harry's hands was still in his hand, and he released it from his shaking, tight grip. Harry didn't remove his hand, though, only let it lay there in the palm of Jake's.

"This is a lot to take in." He said weakly.

Harry nodded encouragingly. "I'm sure. Take your time, Jake. Ask me anything you want."

"Wolves." He said, almost immediately. "Do you know any wolves?"

"Werewolves?" Harry mused. If he was confused by the question, he didn't show it. "Yes I do, actually. My godfather was a werewolf—he passed away, but I know of a few others too. None as closely as that."

Belatedly Jake noticed that the commotion outside had died down. What had happened to the dragon? Maybe those tamers were taking it back to the reserve. Jake wondered how they did that—did they fly it back on giant brooms? Maybe they could levitate it.

He decided to ask. "Those dragon tamers. What are they going to do with that dragon?"

Harry frowned. "Dunno. Take it back to the reserve, I suppose."

"Yes, but how?"

He shrugged. "A truck, probably. Whethersprout has this big Chevy—they probably just threw it in the back and put a tarp over it."

"You're kidding."

Harry smiled. "Am I?"

There was a voice from the firepit, which, to Jake's surprise (though maybe at this point he shouldn't have been _that _surprised) had erupted into green flames. "Potter? You there?"

Harry turned with to the fireplace with a frown, before looking back at Jake. And, to his shocked face, "That's the floo. It's… our method of transportation? It's not as much of a health hazard as it looks, really. But it seems like someone's calling me, could we finish this at another time? I really hate to kick you out like this—

"It's totally fine." Jake cut him off with a slight smile. "I've got a lot to think on anyway."

Harry nodded slowly, showing him out and promising to stop be the reserve some time after school. God.. Harry went to school in Forks, didn't he? Jake wondered why. He said he went to magical school—why go to… muggle school too? He stood out in the cold, staring out into the vast landscape, shaking, but not from the cold.

Right.

Okay. So, Harry was a wizard. But he was still… Harry.

With that, he got into his car and started to drive home, determinedly not looking the rearview mirror to see if there was a giant red beast in the sky.

* * *

_Well, on the bright side, I actually have a direction for this story now? That's my problem haha... I have these ideas, but I don't know how they end. How do you guys think this'll end? I'm 's one of my favorite things about fanfiction in comparison to actual books, I might not reply but I read every single review and take them to heart. I feel like you dont' get connection to authors like that..you don't influence authors like that with books. _


	9. Constant Conversations

Wizard, Jake thought, hysterically, Harry is a wizard.

Well, there was a magnitude of infinitely worse things he could be. Jake attempted to list them off the top of his head: serial rapist, the third singer in a crappy indie band, a morally ambiguous murderer of kittens… about halfway into this list Jake thought he may have lost his mind.

It could be worse, Jake consoled, silently.

He sat beneath the breadth of a large oak tree, listlessly sprawled in its roots as if somehow the position might ground him when he felt as if half of him would drift away. It wasn't working entirely. Up in the distance the lopsided, dilapidated mansion Harry called home squatted on the apex of a grass knoll, and from here Jake could make out the indistinct figures of Harry's housemates loading—as Harry had predicted—a dragon into the back of a Ford F-1.

This was really his life.

Jake didn't know what else to do.

So he laughed.

.

.

.

**Make Light**

**!**

_Chapter Nine: Constant Conversations_

_._

"Tea?" Harry found himself asking, for the third time that day.

Seated on the opposite side of the kitchen, Draco Malfoy shook his head. "Pass." He said, wry. Normally this would have been a retort of great arrogance; but it appeared that Malfoy was not in his regular spirits. From the looks of him, Harry doubted he had been in some time.

As a result of not seeing the blonde in a good few years or so, Harry found he couldn't quite read the expression on the man's face. His head was titled to fixate his gaze in something indeterminable in the distance; probably the undoubtedly incredulous spectacle of Whethersprout and crew loading up the Ridgeback into the back of a pickup truck. Harry could hear their shouts of frustration from the open window: it appeared that they were having issues fitting the dragon in the truck's bay without its elongated neck sticking out over the top. Burgundy yelled something about perhaps a notice-me-not charm. Whethersprout returned that he'd never heard of a notice-me-not that could unnoticed the size of something like _that. _

Harry shook his head, and went about making his own cup. Mint, he decided with no small amount of deliberation. Mint and Chamomile. He had no idea how he was supposed to make it through the afternoon without something calming.

"Should I ask why you're here?" Harry asked, dry as bone, as he moved about his kitchen.

Malfoy continued to look out the window, profile thrown into grayscale light. The clouds outside stripped the world of color, leaving the blonde bare in shadows and brightness.

"Am I to take a guess, then?" Harry continued in the blonde's silence. From the looks of things, he should do up another cup anyway.

He set the cup and saucer in front of Malfoy with a great, conclusive thud. The worn china rattled ominously, but didn't spill. Belatedly, Harry noticed none of the cutlery he'd chosen matched in any sense of the word; all the plates, cups and utensils had been brought by various members of the house—each with their own and very significant opinions on patterns and colors. He expected a remark about that as well, but the blonde only gave a somewhat dismissive glance at both cup and saucer, before turning his attention back to the world outside.

"How's Ginny?" He changed tact.

Ah.

Hit a mark on that one.

"Did she tell you?" He asked abruptly, turning sharply towards Harry.

"About…?" Harry fished, intending to get at least something out of Draco.

Malfoy did not elaborate.

Harry sighed. He could be stubborn about this; hell, it was clear as day that the Slytherin was coming for advice. And there was a small, vindictive part of him that intended to rip that out of him—that wanted to make him beg. The rest of him was too old and too tired to expend so much effort.

"The wedding? Or the baby?" Harry smiled, bland and devoid of any significant amusement. "Congratulations, by the way."

"This isn't a joke, Potter." Malfoy snarled.

"Yes, I imagine it wouldn't be very funny if it was." Harry agreed. He blew gently against the surface of the tea—watching the rivulets of air with great fascination.

"I—Potter!" He barked, when it became clear that Harry's attention had strayed.

"Ah, yes?" The brunette looked up.

It looked as if Malfoy had to physically will himself up for this moment. Harry found great satisfaction in this. "Did she say anything to you?"

"About either of them?" Harry returned, coolly. "No. Well, not really. She informed me of both events, and then left. If you were expecting any answers from me, I'm afraid you've been terribly misinformed."

Fortunately it seems this was the right thing to say: all the stubbornness leaves Malfoy in an abrupt swoop, leaving the blonde looking exhausted.

"They hate me." He sighed at length.

"That's not true." Harry was quick to respond. "The Weasley's are incapable of hating anyone." Well… maybe not Molly. Molly was terrifying. "What brought this on?"

"We went to that—" He swallowed whatever insult he was about to spit out; Harry could respect him for the attempt, at least. "Uh, we went to their house. We wanted to tell our families, y'know? About the wedding."

Harry snorted. He could imagine how well that went down. "Not the best idea."

"No." Malfoy agreed. "That was… rather overly ambitious of me." Harry cracked an involuntary smile at that—surprised by such humility coming from a tenant like Malfoy, however sardonic it may be.

"What happened?"

"Well, they weren't too pleased." He replied. "Though, neither were mine. But I so rarely speak to my parents these days: it was more perfunctory than anything. But Ginny cares about what her family thinks… she didn't take their response too well."

Harry's brows raised. "You're calling it off?"

He shook his head. "No. Well…" He frowned, thoughtful. "It's on suspended hiatus."

"_Ah_."

And Harry could be a judicious, obstinate little fuck about this. But the fact of the matter was; he and Malfoy had been obstinate little fucks for way too long at this point, seven years too long, and he actually held quite a bit of sympathy for the guy. He could remember his first time meeting the Weasley's—and that was as a friend of Ron's, and as the Chosen One. His encounter hadn't had any of the history or any of the stigma that Malfoy's undoubtedly had, and even then he'd been rather overwhelmed by it. He could only imagine how much worse Malfoy's meeting had went.

"They'll come around." He said, putting his tea down. "I'm not saying it will be easy, but you definitely went the hard way."

And, to Malfoy's confused expression, "Terrible timing." He elaborated.

"Give it time." Harry reasoned. The Weasley's were still reeling from the vicious end of him and Ginny. He knew in his heart that they all expected him to end up with her forever: in a lot of ways, he had assumed the same. But in the end, the only ones whose opinions mattered were his and Ginny's—and they were both in pretty staunch agreement that they would never be anything but catastrophic. But the Weasley's needed time to reconcile that. He could see it when he was dragged to dinners with Charlie, could see the fading sparkle in Mrs. Weasley's eyes when Ginny never showed.

"Also," Harry added. "Start with… just start with one of them at a time, right? It gets overwhelming meeting them all at once."

"Like who?" Malfoy snorted. "Ron?"

It was fairly safe to say Ron would rather shoot himself in the foot than sit in a room with Malfoy for more than a few minutes.

"Yeah no, not the best idea." Harry agreed, a smile blooming on his face as he thought of an idea. "Do you have shoes?"

Malfoy blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you have outdoor shoes?" Harry repeated. "Also, how do you feel about a trek through the muddy shit show that is the Olympic Peninsula?"

Malfoy blinked again. Hard.

.

.

.

This was how the afternoon found him and Draco Malfoy trekking up the side of a large hill, mostly out of breath, looking for the Ironbelly stakeout. He'd apparated them into the rolling fields—but that was really all he could do without specific coordinates. Unfortunately, he had forgotten how _large _the reserve was. It was to their infinite relief that the stakeout crew had lit a campfire, and the clout of smoke rising into the dreary sky was discernible from some distance.

"Where the hell are we, Potter?" Malfoy cursed between breaths.

"The Olypmic Dragon reserve." Harry returned, just as out of breath. How he wished for a broom right now.

Malfoy grunted. "Perhaps the better question to ask would have been—_why_?"

"Give it a bit." Harry returned, as they cleared the hill and the valley below them sprawled out to all four corners of the earth.

He could have collapsed to his knees and rejoiced at the sight of Charlie Weasley center stage in front of the fire, undoubtedly reenacting some attempt to grab the Ironbelly's eggs—at least, he hoped that was what the redhead was supposed to be miming, If it wasn't, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to do know what it _was. _

"Charlie!" He called, jovial with relief.

The redhead was caught in surprise, accidentally dropping the frying pan he'd been brandishing over his head. It fell from his grip and slammed into his forehead, much to the uproarious amusement of his fellow tamers.

"Oh Merlin." Malfoy muttered at the sight.

As they approachced, the group's merry laughter drifted into cheers at the sight of Harry.

"Harry Potter!" Doris leapt to his feet. Harry noted his eyebrows had finally grown back from their run in with the Ironbelly. "Haven't seen you this far out in a while!"

"I try to stay as far away from man-eating dragons as possible." Harry enthused, returning the man's ecstatic back clapping. "Contrary to popular belief—I do have some self preservation!"

"Eh?" Doris cocked his head, turning to Malfoy. "Har, who's this?"

Harry had to privately agree that Malfoy did, indeed stick out like something of a sore thumb and someone was bound to call attention to him. He had on a white button down he'd rolled up to his elbows that looked as if it had been cleaned at some point in the week—and if that wasn't a blatant sign he wasn't a dragon tamer than Harry didn't know what was—and a pair of spotless khakis. Harry had transfigured his incredibly expensive looking shoes into a pair of kicks, much to the blonde's displeasure. He hadn't been complaining once they'd started up the hills, though.

"Uh, a… _friend_ of mine." He bit out, feeling uncomfortable at the very word. From Malfoy's expression, he was just as uncomfortable. "We're here for Charlie, actually."

The redhead in question stopped attempting to conjure ice for his bruised head (the ice might work for his temple, but it wouldn't do much for his ego) and looked up. "Me?"

His expression turned into complete beffudlement when he noticed Harry's companion.

"Malfoy?"

If possible, Malfoy looked even more awkward.

Harry, who was out of element in human interaction on the best of days, stuck his hands in his pockets. "Ah… right. Yeah. So. Would you mind showing us the Ironbelly? We were… curious."

If anyone felt the need to call him out on the blatant lie—they did not act upon it.

Charlie gave him a rather pointed look—which, okay, he deserved, because he'd been protesting adamantly how he'd never come back up here unless his life was on the line—but shrugged regardless. "Sure! She's a beaut, y'know, but she's in a bit of a temper at the moment."

He sent a sidelong glance towards Doris. "I wonder why that is?"

Doris harrumphed, looking terribly offended.

Harry did not want to know.

He forcibly dragged Malfoy up another hill, this time Charlie in tow, the rowdy sounds of the other tamers muted by the distance. Harry didn't think the silence all that calamitous though—Charlie appeared to still be in rather jovial spirits, and he didn't even seem all that encumbered by Malfoy's presence. Harry counted this as a win.

"There she is!" Charlie halted their journey abruptly. Harry squinted into the distance.

He didn't see anything.

Charlie grabbed his head, and turned it with his hands. "No, you silly twit, _over there_."

Harry blinked. "Oh. _Oh._"

He felt a bit foolish for so blatantly mistaking the Ironbelly for another one of the rolling hills. Fortunately he did not seem to be the only one, as Malfoy sucked in an audible breath.

Charlie must have noticed their blatant terror, as he laughed merrily. "Oh, don't worry, we're not nearly close enough to warrant her ire. Wouldn't get too much closer, though…"

"Right." Harry swallowed. "Good idea there, mate."

The Ironbelly lifted its long neck, uncurling its head from where it had been tucked near its feet. It looked a combination of lazy and supremely bored. This did not relieve Harry at all, though. He was a lost cause though. Ever since the Tri-wizard tournament he'd never been overly fond of dragons. And anyway, just because it didn't look interested didn't mean it wasn't. And the reptile was absolutely enormous—enough to look like a small mountain, at any rate.

"How many do you have?" He heard Malfoy ask, faint.

Charlie shrugged. "Eh, hard to say. There were three last I checked."

"There's more?"

"Sure." Returned Charlie, airily. "They're herding dragons—a few have flown over from the Ukraine."

"They'll migrate that far?"

"For females?" Charlie replied, incredulous. He snorted in laughter. "Always."

Malfoy turned back to the large dragon, shuffling about the hills. She flapped her enormous, leathery wings and in the interim the tiny forms of her hatchlings could be seen tottering along with her. One sneezed, while the other tripped over its own feet and face planted. Another appeared to be dragging itself on it's mothers foot, and on top of it was a fourth hatchling, piggy-backing on its sibling and somberly breathed out little puffs of fire.

Harry shook his head.

Dragons. They might look cute, but they'll take whatever opportunity to fry your hair off they can get.

Malfoy turned quickly to Charlie. "Do you think we can get any closer?"

Harry balked.

"_Well,_" Charlie drawled "I really should say no. But if you're up for the adventure I'm happy to oblige!"

Harry imagined that by adventure he really means running for your life as a monstrous dragon chases you off from getting too close to her young. This does not sound at all like Harry's idea of 'fun'.

Malfoy nodded, though, looking as if his Slytherin self preservation had completely left him. "Let's do it."

"You two have fun with that!" Harry threw his hands up in surrender, backing away. "I'm just gonna stay here and… and enjoy staying alive."

"You do that!" Charlie saluted, before he grabbed Malfoy by the arm and hauled him down the hill.

Well, Harry supposed, watching both Malfoy and Weasley attempt to sneakily get in range of the hatchlings, this may or may not have been a successful idea. On the one hand, he'd figured that Charlie would be amiable for anything involving dragons. But on the other—Charlie is undoubtedly the most relaxed of the Weasley siblings. Well, that was debatable as George and Bill were also rather easy going, but both had played their part in the war, and Harry wasn't sure how they felt Malfoy fit into that.

It seemed both like yesterday and a millennia ago that Harry was ducking through the castle, on a hunt for the last horcrux before his entire life came crashing down, his friends around him fighting for their survival. In a lot of ways, he hadn't grown out of that moment.

He was getting there though, he thought.

Harry trotted to a safer distance away from what was undoubtedly going to be an outraged dragon and a lot of singed hair; the winter chill cut through the hills in visible patterns, and he huddled closer into his jacket. He was still in a lot of awe over everything that had happened in the span of the last two hours, but his mind kept wandering to the looming mountains in the distance, and all the legends Jake had to say about them. It'd been about one hundred minutes or so, and the warmth that he'd felt standing beside the boy and a numbing indifference had besieged him once more.

His phone erupted cheerily from inside his pocket, and Harry fished it out of his jeans to find Jake calling him.

He blinked, pondered, and then answered.

"Hullo?"

"Harry, hey." And after a pause. "Sorry I sort of ran out of there."

Harry smiled briefly. "If memory serves correctly, I believe I _kicked _you out."

"It was a voluntary surrender." Jake refuted, and Harry though he could hear the laughter in his voice. "Anyway, I was wondering when you think you'd be free?"

"Now's free."

"Oh. Oh, okay." Harry didn't think he was imagining the pleased tone. "You wanna meet me back at your house?"

It sounded as good an idea as any. "Sure."

.

.

.

Jake wasn't there.

Harry peered into the temperamental sky, and then averted his gaze back to the world around his house. No sign of him. Harry squinted down the drive way. Come to think of it, no car either. How exactly had Jake managed to get here in the first place?

The brunette sighed, folding his arms around him, leaning against the door frame.

Maybe Harry had beat him here. That wasn't all that surprising: Harry did have the capacity to teleport, where as Jake did not.

He pulled out his phone, about to call the boy again when a snuffling sound from his left roused his attention.

A large, burly wolf sat on its haunches at the base of the hill, keeping close to the tree line. Harry blinked at it, hackles raised. It was… a very big wolf. It reminded him a lot of a werewolf, actually—except a hell of a lot fluffier. He wondered if he'd be able to just backtrack into his house, lock the door and call it a day. That's what you did with bears, right? He had no idea.

He remembered a similar encounter with wolves that day on the beach, and gave pause. Maybe this was one of those friendly wolves? Wait, was that even a thing?

Well, Harry supposed, he could always just stun it.

The wolf trotted closer, without any beckoning from Harry. He watched it apprehensively. It… didn't look angry? But then again, Harry wasn't exactly well versed in wolf expressions.

"Well, hello there." He greeted, hesitantly, as the wolf drew close. It wagged its tail.

Harry took this as a good sign.

It stopped briefly in front of Harry, peering up at him with luminous eyes, before it butted its head into Harry's side.

"Oh!" He blinked. "Huh, you're a friendly one, then?" Definitely one of the tribe's wolves.

The wolf gave what was undoubtedly a whine, and Harry unfolded his arms to drop a hand onto the wolf's surprisingly fluffy head. This appeared to be the right response, as the wolf turned its head under his hand, and began to lick its way up his wrist.

"Wow." Harry smiled. "Really friendly." It's tail wagged at a rapid rate.

The boy knelt down to eye level of the wolf, still scratching behind the ears. "So, where are you supposed to be?"

It was a wolf, so, well, it didn't have an answer for him. Not a legitimate one, at any rate. It did, however, lick his face in response.

"Thanks." He said, dry. He wiped the wetness off his cheek with a grimace. "Do you even know what you do with that tongue?" He scowled. If possible, the wolf looked even happier, grinning viciously.

Harry sighed. "I'm assuming you don't have a collar…"

The wolf yipped, and then, as if ignoring Harry completely it trotted off into the house. Harry sat up, bounding after it. "Hey—hold on!"

This was how Charlie found him hours later, sitting on the floor churlishly watching reruns of House of Cards, an enormous wolf sprawled over top of him. He hadn't managed to a) get the wolf out of the house, b) get the wolf out of the living room or c) get the wolf out of his personal space, and instead simply gave up and settled himself in for the long haul, and had been channel surfing ever since.

The redhead stumbled inside just past dark, looking like he and Malfoy had, indeed, gotten too close to the Ironbelly and ran for their lives.

"At least you still have your eyebrows." Harry greeted.

Charlie grinned roguishly. "Hullo there Harry—how are you? What's with the wolf? And oh, you should have _seen _it! We got so close, Harry; the hatchlings were _right there_!"

Harry laughed. "It was a good time, then?"

Charlie nodded, turning around to wander into the kitchen. "It was!" He threw over his shoulder, over the rummaging clatter of pots and pans. "Malfoy has less self-preservation than I thought!"

"Apparently so." Harry mused to himself, before shaking his head. "And how was he?"

The Weasley maundered back into the living room, holding a large iron-wrought pan in one hand, and a large wooden spoon in the other. Harry squinted. It looked like… the macaroni leftovers from a week ago. Come to think of it, it kind of smelled like it too.

"Good." Charley replied, around a spoonful of pasta. "Good. I mean—he's an alright bloke, I suppose. Its still a bit strange at home and all, though."

"I'm sure." Harry snorted. Almost absentmindedly, he stroked the wolf as it began to whine softly. "What's everyone think?"

"We think Ginny's gone off the rails." Charlie retorted immediately. And then, to Harry's nonplussed look; "Well, it's a little true, innit?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I don't know. She didn't tell me much… but it sort of seems like they've… had something for longer than I would have thought?"

Charlie blinked, rapidly. "You think she was seeing him when you guys were…?"

"Oh, oh no." Harry returned immediately, much to Charlie's evident relief. "Ginny wouldn't do that. I remember her saying something about seeing him again, though. Last winter, maybe? She said he was alright these days—I hadn't really believed her."

"It's still strange." Charlie pointed out. "And it just… it seems soon, y'know?"

"Well," Harry mused, wry. "I think it was certainly unplanned."

Charlie chortled. "I'll say." And then, shaking his head, "I mean, I've got nothing against him. From the way Ron talks about him you'd think he was the biggest tosser on the planet, but he didn't seem all that bad to me. And if you can be alright with it, then who are we to get in the way of it?"

Harry smiled slightly. "That's good to hear, Charlie." He stopped petting the wolf, and it began to whine again. With amusement, he began the petting anew. "Now, if we could convince your brothers of this…"

Charlie eyed him critically; the austereness of the gesture was lost in the fact that his jacket's left shoulder was still smoldering, it appeared as if the dragon had managed to roll them both into the dirt, and he was eating week old macaroni out of the pan with a spoon three sizes too big.

"You might go a lot longer of a way in that than I could."

Harry blinked. "How do you mean?"

"Well, like I said, if anyone's got the right to be mad, it'd be you, right? And if you're okay with it, then well, it looks really foolish of us to be holding the grudge, no?"

"I suppose." Harry admitted, finally. He didn't know how accurate Charlie's assessment was; maybe in the case of Bill, Percy and Arthur, who didn't know much of Malfoy personally. He could see George coming around, provided Malfoy kept up this behavior. Ron though… And he shuddered to think on Molly's reaction. She'd always been rather protective of Ginny. Harry was fortunate to be, well, Harry, and she'd never minded him. Dean Thomas though…

The wolf beneath him yipped softly, moving its head to nip at Harry's jaw. Harry stirred out of his reverie, batting the animal away.

Charlie looked vaguely alarmed, pointing his wooden spoon at the wolf. "Is it… trying to eat you?"

"No." Harry laughed. "He's just a really friendly wolf."

"I'll say." Charlie agreed. "And, where did you get him again?"

"Oh, he was out on the front porch."

"…_Seriously_?"

Harry averted his attention away from the wolf in his lap, turning curiously to Charlie. "Yeah. Why?"

The redhead sputtered, waving his spoon around hysterically. "Harry! That's really dangerous! Who knows where that came from—and it could really hurt you!"

Harry gave him a deadpan look. "Charlie." He said, bland. "Are you _really _the person to be lecturing me on dangerous creatures?"

The redhead paused at that, growing sheepish. "Ah, yeah. Good point." He allowed. He rolled his eyes though, and pivoted back into the kitchen. "Just don't go crying to me when it gives you rabies!"

Harry laughed delightedly. "Oh please, Charlie—you're the last person I'd go to for any kind of medical attention."

The redhead couldn't say anything to that. He was, after all, the guy who thought that sticking a bandage on Whethersprout would fix his broken nose, and that an '_episky_' could heal everything.

Harry shook his head, still grinning, as he heard Charlie trudge around the kitchen. The wolf in his lap stirred, peering up at him with its large, luminous eyes. They looked… strangely sentient.

Harry stared back.

The wolf… did not blink.

Just when it was starting to get rather disconcerting, it hopped up to its feet, and then… trotted right out of the room. Harry watched it go, sort of incredulous, before he leapt to his feet after it.

"Hey!" He called, after the puttering sounds of scraping claws on the floor.

He could hear the shuffling of paws against the wooden flooring, and followed it up the staircase and to the bedrooms. The wolf was roving in circles in the middle of his room, nose to the ground with a look of great consternation. Harry wasn't entirely sure how wolves could even make such expressions.

He hovered in the doorway as the wolf perused the scents in his room, scampering underneath his bed one way and then emerging from the other, his pile of laundry, the books on his desk.

Finally, after it appeared to see and smell all it wanted it turned back to Harry with a very nonplussed expression.

Harry raised a brow. "Had enough?"

It whined lowly at him, and Harry shook his head. Unfortunately, he didn't speak wolf.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, it dove between Harry's legs and darted down into the hall.

"Whoa—hey!" Harry called after the wolf, rushing down the stairs.

The front door was open a bit, and out of it he could see the gloom of night lurking outside. He burst through it, narrowing his eyes around the world outside. Nothing. He didn't quite know what he felt about that.

He didn't have time to feel anything; a few moments later Jake emerged from the trees, walking into the light of the front porch with a sheepish smile.

"Jake!" Harry blinked, smiling lightly. "I was wondering what happened to you!"

"Yeah, sorry about that…" He greeted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I meant to come and then I just…"

"No worries." Harry ushered him inside. "Figured you might just be held up with something."

"Yeah." Jake replied, noncommittal." Something like that…"

Harry moved out of the entrance, waving a hand. "Want to come in?"

.

.

.

He'd meant to be there as a human when Harry had mentioned he'd be free. He had, honestly. But something in him seized up at the thought of Harry—Harry the _wizard—_and he had reverted cowardly into his wolf.

It took him some few hours, and a truly heinous amount of petting for him to acknowledge that, no, that fact that he was a wizard didn't inherently change anything about Harry at all. It was bit foolish of him, honestly. Being a wolf didn't change any part of _his _personality; why would being a wizard change Harry's? He was still a nice guy, still funny, still _strange. _

Even though Jake knew he was a wizard, there was still so much to him that didn't make sense. There was a lot more to him than a special talent in magic.

He sighed, rubbing warily at his head.

Not to mention this Ginny person. It was clear from Harry's conversation with the redhead that whoever Ginny was, she'd been a cornerstone to Harry's world. He almost wanted to ask, but it seemed a bit too personal.

And the fact of the matter was—Harry being a wizard hadn't changed anything about their relationship… for good or ill.

They were still friends, they still got on well. And Harry still did not know he was Jake's imprint, he still kept his own secrets; he still turned pensive and thoughtful when he thought Jake wasn't looking. There was a certain sadness to the brunette; something like regret that stormed in his eyes when he thought he was alone.

Jake vowed to find out what it was.


End file.
